by Casey Watson
It was still a big ask, the whole thing with his mother, but, sitting there, I hoped with all my heart that there’d be something special at the end of Spencer’s rainbow.
Chapter 24
Tuesday morning began with two pieces of good news. The first took the form of a dawn answerphone message to let us know Spencer’s school had finally reopened. For all that the Spencer we had right now was the variety we liked (rather than the naughty one) he needed the routine of school back in his life – even more so with the emotional upheaval that, potentially, might be coming very soon.
And once I’d dropped him off and returned home – the snow having thawed enough, at last, to get the car out – the second piece of good news, when I called the letting agents, was that we could go and see the property I was so keen to visit, and that very lunchtime, as well. So I called Mike at work and made him do something unprecedented: take a lunch hour. And had him pick up the keys from the agency office on his way home.
And it was as if someone up there had decided they liked me, because when we drove to the house I fell in love with it immediately. The garden was even bigger than it had looked in the pictures, and though its branches were currently bare, and laden with dripping snow, I spotted something that felt like it was truly meant to be – what looked like a huge mature cherry tree. And, once inside, I could tell my first impressions had been the right ones. It was spacious and open plan and had a real family feel to it. It would need a bit of tarting up, and a full-on Casey clean-athon, in order to bring it up to my standards, but everything about it was so perfect for our needs that I felt amazed it hadn’t occurred to us to make a move before. I even identified, though the coming festivities had been so far from my mind, exactly where I could put my three Christmas trees.
‘God,’ said Mike. ‘I get the heebie jeebies even thinking about Christmas. Can we keep it a bit more low key this year, do you think?’
‘Certainly not,’ I said, feeling a welcome surge of seasonal energy. ‘Particularly this year with Spencer – because, let’s face it, there’s still a good chance he’ll still be with us, isn’t there? No, we’ve got to make it magical. Unforgettable. The best Christmas ever …’
Mike raised his hand and shook his head. ‘Love, I don’t know why I even asked that.’
And the following day brought even better news for Spencer, though, to be truthful, it also filled me with anxiety. Once Spencer knew the facts – well, whatever portion of them Glenn felt was appropriate at this stage – it was going to be like letting the genie out of the bottle. Once Spencer knew the truth about his family, there would be no unknowing it, and though, as a child, with support, he would adapt to the new circumstances, it would still be incredibly emotionally destabilising for him to have to mentally re-write the memories of his whole life.
But when John phoned to update me on progress with Kerry, he seemed altogether less fearful than I was.
‘She’s definitely pressing charges against her husband,’ he told me. ‘I’ve met the sister now, and I think she’s been a major force for good. I’m not sure she’d have had the wherewithal without her support, but right now it’s all looking 100 per cent positive.’
‘That’s so good to know,’ I said. ‘As long as it lasts, that’s the big thing.’
‘Well, all we can do is hope it does,’ he said pragmatically. ‘But she’s certainly beginning to get a solid base in place. She’s obviously got her social worker – Christina, a lovely woman – and they seem to get on brilliantly. And they’ve also now assigned her a support worker as well.’
This was good. A support worker was a key – well – support. They wouldn’t necessarily have a degree, or the same level of training as a social worker, but they usually had experience of working with children and their families, and were very much the people who worked at the coal face, helping parents in difficulty with establishing boundaries as well as assisting with day-to-day tasks that some parents found daunting, such as getting kids to dental appointments, form filling, getting access to benefits and so on. Kerry, I had no doubt, would need help with such matters, now she was going it alone for the first time.
‘And with that kind of help she has every chance of coping,’ John went on. ‘And both Christina and her support worker seem confident she has the strength to kick the drink into touch. I know it’s a big ask – we’re neither of us that naïve, are we, Casey, eh? – but when diehard gloom merchants like support workers and social workers start bandying words like “positive” and “confident” around you know you’re in with a fighting chance.’
I laughed. John had a point: people who worked in social services – not to mention people like me and Mike – routinely saw so many bad things in their line of work that if they felt positive about something or someone it really counted for something. ‘That’s really reassuring,’ I agreed. ‘So what’s the next step, then?’
‘Well, Christina is obviously working around the clock to get her and the kids housed so that she can leave the refuge, and everyone’s hopeful that can happen before Christmas. But the key thing is that she feels Kerry’s made sufficient progress that the time is right to arrange a meeting with young Spencer. Somewhere local to you, though, so he feels comfortable and safe. Any suggestions? I was thinking a coffee place or something …’
‘I know the perfect place,’ I said. ‘There’s an ice-cream bar in town he loves going to. I bet he’d love the chance to go there with his mum.’
‘What’s the name?’
‘Giorgio’s. Just off the high street. D’you know it?’
‘No, but I can find the address easily enough, I’m sure. So, how about after school on Friday? That’s what Christina was thinking. She can head there with Kerry – about fourish? Give him time to get home and changed out of his uniform.’
‘That’ll be perfect,’ I said, noting it down – though I really didn’t need to. I felt quite sure this ‘date’ was going to dominate the remainder of my week. ‘But how do I play it, John? Exactly how much do I tell him? As it happens, I have a letter he’s written and wants to give her.’ I explained about our correspondence session.
‘Well, that’s your opener, right there,’ he said. ‘Tell him we’ve arranged that they can meet so he can give it to her. Explain that his dad’s not going to be there; that it’ll just be the two of them – plus the social worker. I don’t think you really need to say more than that. You could tell him his mum’s missed him, of course, and that she was the one who asked to see him. Whatever happens after this, I don’t think it’ll hurt that kid one little bit to know that someone, besides you and Mike, of course, care that he’s alive.’
I didn’t either, and couldn’t wait to tell Spencer the news. My little piece of it anyway; the real news, John explained, was for Kerry and Christina to tell him, once I’d dropped him at Georgio’s come Friday. The first day, I thought, if somewhat melodramatically. The first day of the rest of Spencer’s life.
‘God,’ Riley commented later on that day, after school, ‘I don’t know how you manage to keep it all in, Mum.’
She was round at ours, with the little ones, helping with some packing. Because, to our great relief, we’d heard we could definitely have the house and, since it was empty, and provided the paperwork was all signed, could also move in before Christmas. Literally just before Christmas – the 23rd, to be precise. We could have waited till January, but now the ball had started rolling, wild horses, however fleet of foot, couldn’t have dragged me away. And it wasn’t as if it would be as bad as all that. The removal men were booked – no problems there; they were understandably quiet at this time of year – so all we had to do was a little light streamlining really, just to stop us moving years of accumulated junk from one place to the next.
‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘And of course it’s doubly complicated, because Spencer obviously thinks he’s moving with us. Which he well might be. Even if things go well, we don’t yet know if moving back in with
her is going to be viable. And even if he does, it might all go pear shaped again, mightn’t it? In which case he’ll be back again. Just have to see how it goes.’
This was normal practice, of course, in a situation such as this. While the new arrangement was being trialled, I’d not be offered another child. I needed to be ready to take Spencer back again, for however long was necessary, should going back to his mother not prove viable. It was something I didn’t want to think about, for Spencer’s sake mostly, but even if the worst happened I’d at least have a break in which to recharge my batteries and get us properly settled in. I kept my voice down when chatting to Riley about all this, as Spencer himself was only in the other room, entertaining Levi and Jackson; the three of them were busy sorting out the huge box of toys under the stairs, which I’d dragged out so they could sort what was in there into categories. ‘So’s we don’t end up taking stuff I’m too old to play with,’ he had told them. ‘That can all go in a special box for when you two come round.’
‘Which is all you can do,’ Riley said now. ‘That and cross your fingers. But you know what? Something tells me it will all work out fine. I don’t know why – heaven help us; it’s been one hell of a few months, hasn’t it? – but I have a good feeling about this.’
‘And there speaks Mystic Meg,’ I laughed. ‘Let’s just hope you’re right. And if it doesn’t … well, I guess it’ll just be sleeves up and crack on … though, right now, sleeves up and pack on is the priority. If we’re ever to get it done before moving day, that is. And Christmas, for that matter. You know, I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but it’s actually been rather good for me, I think, all this upheaval. I keep thinking about decorations and then remembering I can’t do them. And finding it strangely relaxing. Most odd.’
Riley grinned. ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that either,’ she admitted. ‘And speaking of which, I shall do Christmas again this year. No arguments, either. You’ve got enough on your plate.’
‘But –’
‘No buts, Mum. It’s a done deal. And yes, I’ve already run it past David. And Kieron. We decided you can have a New Year’s Eve party instead. Stroke housewarming party. Kieron’ll be on his decks. It’s all sorted. See if you can’t start as you mean to go on, and fall out with your new neighbours as well as your old ones. Only kidding! A much more sensible idea, don’t you think? See? I’ve thought of everything.’
‘So have I,’ came a voice from the doorway. It was Spencer. He was holding up his box of plastic dinosaurs which he now thrust towards Riley. ‘We’re done with the trunk, so I told the little ones they could play with my dinosaurs while I help you with whichever job is next. Is that all right, Riley? I wasn’t sure if they were okay for Jackson. But there aren’t any small parts, I don’t think.’ We both glanced at each other, thinking the same thing: how much this little boy should be back home with his own siblings.
By the time Friday afternoon came round I don’t know which one of us was most sick with nerves – me or Spencer. ‘I’ve had a funny electric feeling in my tummy all day,’ he admitted once I’d got him home and had come upstairs to help him choose what to wear. He’d had it all sorted the evening before, but now he was dithering, just a symptom, I knew, of his extreme anxiety about seeing his mother.
He wasn’t stupid: he had taken in what I’d told him calmly enough – that it was a contact visit with Mum only, so that he could give her his letter – but he knew there was an emotional tension to this meeting, even if he couldn’t consciously articulate it. In the end he plumped for jeans, but discarded a favourite hoodie for the shirt I had bought him the previous weekend, ironically to replace one he’d ripped when he trashed his room. We’d chosen it together, from a catalogue, and I was touched. He clearly wanted to feel just that little bit more formal, and, maybe, I thought, allowing myself just a hint of sentimentality, to have a bit of me on side, as a kind of security blanket.
Mike was coming too, and had come home from work early. He wanted to be there not just because there’d be two of us to provide solidity and reassurance, but also because while Spencer met with his mother I’d have to hang around in town, and on pins. There was also the matter of Spencer’s father in all this. We didn’t know precisely how much his mother was going to tell him, but one thing he probably did need to know at this stage was that the person he knew as Dad wasn’t going to be in his life for the foreseeable future, which knowledge, even if they didn’t yet spell out his real parentage, was a lot for any child to take in.
‘Do I look all right?’ he said, the clothes finally on, his expression anxious. I was standing ready, brandishing the hairbrush. I beckoned him over. ‘You look perfect, Spencer Herrington,’ I told him seriously, as he was subjected to a thorough brushing of his unruly locks. It wasn’t the sort of thing most eight-year-old boys would willingly subject themselves to, but then Spencer wasn’t like most eight-year-old boys and this wasn’t the sort of situation most eight-year-old boys would find themselves in; meeting their mother, who’d abandoned them, and with just the one wish – that she love them again. Such a little and yet such a lot to ask. I felt as tense as an over-wound grandfather clock. The boy in care at number 57. The phrase haunted me. I so hoped he wouldn’t have to be that any more. And not just because Mike and I were changing our address.
‘There,’ I said, finally. ‘You’ll do. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s be off.’
‘You coming in as well?’ he asked as we headed down the stairs to where Mike waited.
I shook my head. ‘I can’t, sorry. I’m on my pre-Christmas diet. Tell you what; you have an extra ice cream for me.’
However, by the time we got to Giorgio’s it occurred to me that ice cream would be the very last thing on Spencer’s mind. Given that my own response to seeing her felt almost physical – a real jolt – I couldn’t imagine quite how on edge her son must be. She was sitting at the window, with another woman – which would be Christina – at a table I imagined they had chosen for the purpose. She spotted Spencer and waved a hand in greeting, and his hand gripped mine tightly, while the other furiously brushed away tears.
I slackened my own grip. ‘Go on, then,’ I whispered, ‘off you go. Christina’ll ring us when you’re done, okay? Good luck.’
‘I can’t tell you quite how much I need a coffee and a fag right now,’ I told Mike as we watched them. They’d dissolved into each other’s arms now and we could see from their body language that both, looked on by a smiling Christina, were in floods of uncontrollable tears. Not that tears ever solved the world’s ills, not alone. It would take a lot more. I felt suddenly clear-headed, even without the fag. What would be would be.
Mike placed his arm around my shoulder. ‘Coffee, definitely,’ he agreed. We took ourselves off to our own favourite coffee emporium, further down the street. We’d wait there till Christina called us. A first. The carols were being piped and the tinsel hung gaily, but Christmas shopping could wait a bit longer.
‘Wouldn’t it be brilliant,’ I said to Mike, as I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug. ‘Wouldn’t it just be so incredibly brilliant if, just for once, things turned out in a way that the system, for all its experience, still liked to believe are possible? Even though, mostly, they don’t? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the impossible could happen, don’t you think? That a child who’s in care – a child who’s come to us, moreover – could be reunited with his family?’
Mike sipped his own coffee and nodded as he did so. ‘Fingers crossed,’ he said.
We both crossed them.
Chapter 25
‘Guess what, Casey? Oh, you’ll never guess! Oh my God! Just come get me. I’ve got big, big news!’
Mike and I had been so immersed in our discussions that when my mobile vibrated into life on the table between us we both almost jumped out of our seats.
We both smiled at Spencer’s choice of expression, as well. How lovely, we agreed, as we trotted back down the high street and round the
corner to Giorgio’s, that the kids we fostered would adopt so many of our family expressions. It felt like a good omen. We couldn’t wait to hear what ‘big, big news’ he had for us.
The windows of the ice-cream parlour were foggy with condensation, but even through the blur we couldn’t fail to spot the smiles on everyone’s faces. And when he saw us, Spencer looked like he was about to go off pop.
Kerry’s expression was more muted once she made eye contact with the pair of us, but that didn’t surprise me. She must have found it incredibly hard to face us, and I understood. We greeted her warmly, and while I slipped into the fourth spare seat at the table Christina stood up, pleading a need for the ladies, and allowing Mike to slip into her seat while Spencer told us his news.
He looked at his mum first, still beaming, and saying, ‘Mum, I think I should tell them. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.’
This proved to be the perfect ice-breaker, because it had all of us in stitches, even though Spencer couldn’t understand why we were laughing so hard.
Looking at Kerry more closely, I was stunned by the transformation. I could tell she’d been crying – the evidence was both in her eyes and in the big ball of tissue clutched in her hand – but apart from that, it was like looking at a different woman. Though it was probably hard to see unless the life transformation was as dramatic as hers had been, it really struck me just how toxic a poison alcohol could be. I enjoyed a drink myself, but it certainly brought it home to me: this woman’s face had gone from ravaged grey shell to rounded human countenance. Yes, she had a way to go, clearly, and yes, she still had the evidence of all she’d been through in her features, but the twinkle of happiness in her eyes, and the fact that she looked at least ten years younger than the last time I had seen her, were good enough for me. Good enough for me to believe that she could get there.