Too Hurt to Stay: The True Story of a Troubled Boy’s Desperate Search for a Loving Home

by Casey Watson

  ‘Hark at you,’ she said now. ‘Sound like a proper little grown-up.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ I chipped in. ‘What’s this big, big news, then?’

  Spencer babbled excitedly for a good five minutes. About how he’d told his mum about how we’d fixed him, and how she’d really loved her letter (that ball of tissues, I thought to myself, might have come into its own at that point) and how she was going to live in a new place – ‘Just like you an’ Mike. Isn’t that funny?’ – because his dad had to go away for a bit, and she needed to be near his auntie, and how he couldn’t wait to meet her as well, and that the best bit of all was that she wanted him to come home again, and that now he was being fixed they were going to arrange so he could go for a sleepover. ‘An’ a long one, as well. Not just for the night or the weekend. It’s going to be like for a trial,’ Spencer explained as Christina returned to the table and perched on an adjacent one while we wrapped everything up. ‘Just so’s we can make sure that everything’s okay, and that.’

  ‘That’s fantastic, mate,’ said Mike. ‘Really pleased for you. We both are.’ He turned to Christina. ‘So when are we talking about this happening?’

  ‘I just have to run things by Glenn,’ she explained, having ordered a fresh round of drinks for us all. ‘But if he has no objections, I see no reason why we can’t organise this as soon as Kerry’s settled into her new home. She’s been allocated a place now, which we’re off to look at after this, actually.’ She smiled at Kerry. ‘Which certainly seems to fit the bill on paper, so, well, let’s keep everything crossed it does.’

  ‘And I told Mum, I’m really good at packing and unpacking stuff, aren’t I, Casey?’ Spencer beamed. ‘So I can help her make it nice, an’ that, can’t I?’ His smile really lit the room up, which was so wonderful to see. If bittersweet. ‘So it’s not all wrecked,’ he finished.

  My heart remained firmly in my mouth for the next few days, even so. What sounded like such a straightforward business from a booth in an ice-cream parlour on a twinkly December afternoon was in reality anything but. Spencer wasn’t a ward of court, but he was in the care of social services, and social services, quite rightly, did not just plonk children in their care back into family situations that felt anything less than tenable. It would not only be deeply irresponsible and potentially dangerous, it would also go against everything they stood for in their role as state guardians, by giving the child an even greater number of issues than they first came with.

  That said, superficially this all looked workable. Glenn called us himself that evening, and we arranged for him to come and see Spencer because it was obviously important that this step was one he really wanted, as opposed to one he was going along with because he was anxious to please. This wasn’t as unlikely a potential scenario as it might have sounded. However much Spencer craved the love of his mother, it might have been that he felt more comfortable, at least in the short term, staying with me and Mike and doing regular contact visits with his mother. Had that been his preference then that would have been what would have happened.

  But it wasn’t. Spencer’s need for his mother felt almost physical; as well it might, since he had craved her love and care all his life. I couldn’t help but hope – even if it was simplistic – that it would be the magic ingredient that would set him straight. Because a mother’s love, after all, was the most natural thing in the world.

  Penny also joined us that evening to chat to Spencer about continuing with his counselling because, as she told him, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

  ‘What’s Rome got to do with it?’ he wanted to know. ‘Where’s Rome anyway?’

  He had Fluffy Cow fixed on his hand – something I’d not seen in a while now.

  ‘It’s in Italy,’ she told him. ‘Where the Romans used to live. You’ve heard of Romans?’

  Spencer nodded. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Well, they built lots of fine buildings. But it took a long time, as you’d expect …’

  ‘More than a day,’ Spencer interrupted.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Penny, grinning. ‘And it’s the same with you, Spencer.’

  ‘But I thought Casey and Mike had fixed me.’ He looked at me. ‘I thought I was fixed now, so that’s why I can go home again.’

  Penny reached across and gently squeezed one of his biceps. Then she waggled his arm. ‘Hmm, yup. Well, yes, I must admit, you do seem pretty fixed. All working perfectly, as far as I can see. But that’s not the whole story.’ Her expression grew serious. ‘You still need to understand where all that anger inside you came from …’ Spencer looked perplexed. ‘The anger that you might not have seen as anger, but that made you do some of the things you’ve been doing. Some of the things that you know are bad, and that have got you into trouble with the police. That’s what I mean. That’s what we still need to deal with. Where it’s come from and how to deal with it whenever it comes back, okay?’ Spencer nodded. ‘Will it then, d’you think?’

  ‘Not too much, I hope. But, yes, maybe. Because …’ Spencer grinned. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

  Not that Spencer wasn’t just a little bit peeved at this development. He’d been impeccably behaved both during his chat with Glenn and his one with Penny, but he still had his own ideas about how things should go now. ‘She should butt out, that social worker,’ he observed tetchily once the house was again quiet and he was preparing for bed. ‘Now I’m going back home and I’m all fixed an’ that. I’m fine.’

  ‘Yes, you probably are, love,’ I said, sitting down on the bed. ‘But you must remember, social services are there to help you. To make things better. And not just you, remember, your mum too. Remember what I said to you about sometimes it’s the grown-ups that need the most fixing?’ He nodded. ‘Well, this is as much about your mum as it is about you.’

  ‘And what about my dad?’ he asked. He wasn’t looking at me, and I had a hunch that was intentional.

  ‘I don’t know, love,’ I said levelly. ‘I don’t really know your dad, do I? What do you think?’

  ‘I think I like it just with my mum,’ he said. ‘And Lewis an’ that … And the others. For now.’

  The edge in his voice was obvious. ‘Don’t worry. I think Glenn knows that,’ I said to him. ‘Don’t you?’

  * * *

  I don’t think I can remember another run-up to Christmas that was anything like it. Which is understandable, perhaps. It’s not every day you move home only days before the holidays and at the same time prepare for what will hopefully be the permanent departure for a foster child who has dominated your lives for five months. Not that hoping for permanence in this case was anything but the right thing. We’d miss Spencer: for all the stress and trauma we’d been through, he’d got under our skins as surely as any other child could, perhaps more so because we’d believed such bad things about him, on the basis of what had turned out to be so far from the truth. And also, perhaps, because it was in Mike’s and my DNA. Certainly, as we packed up and cleared out and cleaned, our principal feeling was that without a child running around it, home, for us, didn’t feel homely.

  But it would soon be the case, and I knew I should feel grateful. An overnight visit to his mum’s new home, shortly after she and his half-siblings moved in, had gone brilliantly. We knew nothing of the detail, but then again we didn’t need to. Glenn’s report back, together with Spencer’s excitement, told us all we needed to know on that score.

  And it was a boost I needed. It was particularly painful clearing out the last of Kieron’s things – all his amps and his leads and his boxes and boxes of CDs, all of which were still carefully stowed in his bedroom, and would now have to find a home in his and Lauren’s flat. And it wasn’t just that it made no sense to move them to our new home, it was also a rite of passage – a tangible reminder that we had moved to the next stage. The last of our own children really had flown the nest.

  But there was good news yet again, just a couple of days before he was due to leave us, w
hen Spencer’s youth-offending officer, after only his second visit, gave him a gratifyingly glowing report.

  ‘You see, Casey, I am fixed!’ he told me proudly, when I shared the gist of it with him. It was the day before Spencer was going – two days before our own move. It was beginning to make me feel quite un-Casey-like, all of it. I was having too much life to deal with, in one place, at one time. Our house now stood half-empty and we’d gradually been relocating boxes to the new one, and I constantly had the feeling that I might suddenly start to cry.

  I was grateful school had finished, so that I had Spencer’s physical presence in the house with me. And as he looked at me I realised he could see that too. He rushed over and gave me one of his knock-you-over bear hugs, scrunching the youth-offending officer’s report between us.

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, Casey. I’ll be fine now,’ he told me. ‘I’m gonna be nine soon and I can look after myself, honest!’ In some ways, I thought, he never spoke a truer word.

  ‘Thanks, babes,’ I said. ‘I really needed that cuddle. I know you’ll be okay, but I’ll miss you. We all will.’

  Spencer thought for a minute, then pulled something out of his pocket. It was Fluffy Cow. ‘Look,’ he said, holding the little puppet out to me. ‘How about you look after Fluffy Cow for a bit. So’s you don’t miss me so much.’

  I began to shake my head. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ I said. ‘Because he’d miss you too, then, wouldn’t he? And I’d hate to think of both of us moping around. No, he’s got to go with you, so you can chat about things together.’

  He processed this. I could see him thinking it all through. ‘I s’pose you’re right,’ he said, slipping the puppet over his hand. ‘But I been thinking. If you ever need me to come over for a sleepover, just phone my mum, okay? She’ll let me.’

  After that, Spencer had no one but himself to blame when I scooped him up again and started showering him with kisses.

  Mike came in then, another box in hand, bound for the car.

  ‘Help!’ said Spencer playfully, making Fluffy Cow’s mouth move. My cue, I knew, to let him go. ‘Phew,’ he said. ‘Mike, do you want me to come and help you? I have to get out of here before she starts all her kissing malarkey again!’

  Malarkey. I sighed as I got back to my cleaning. Tomorrow he’d be gone, and though I knew we’d keep in touch this was never, I knew, going to get any easier.

  ‘It’s torture,’ Mike agreed, 24 hours later, as Glenn’s car, containing Spencer plus Fluffy Cow, plus the all-important dinosaurs, plus the Chipmunks CD we’d almost forgotten was still in our car, rounded the corner to take him to his new home and new life. ‘But who would have thought it? I’ve spent whole weekends helping the police with their enquires, I’ve fallen out with almost every neighbour in the street, I’ve been threatened with violence, I’ve had holes made in my walls, dents made in my car and half my toolbox has disappeared for ever …’

  ‘Who’d have thought what?’ I wanted to know, as we went back inside, and Mike crossed the room to close the living-room skylights. It was bitterly cold, but the snow had almost gone now. Instead it was a clear, sunny day. It shone on our empty rooms, looking for dust motes. It would be lucky.

  Mike looked sheepish. ‘Who would have thought that a nightmare kid like Spencer could get under your skin so flippin’ much?’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I agreed, blowing my nose hard, the noise echoing in our almost empty living room. The sofa sat between us sorrowfully, waiting to be re-homed, like we were. ‘And this time, my love, I agree with you.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About something I’ve decided, that’s all.’ I circled the sofa and linked my arm through Mike’s, still by the window. ‘That this time we need a break before taking on the next one.’

  ‘Did I hear you right?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Yes, astonishing though it may seem, yes you did.’ I looked out, peering hopefully at the blue. We needed snow again. Snow and trees and fairy lights. Lots of fairy lights. I squeezed Mike’s arm. ‘Anyone up for Christmas?’

  Epilogue

  We moved into our new home the day after Spencer left. It was just two days before Christmas and, in typical Watson style, the whole family rallied round. Within hours of moving in we had it festooned with fairy lights, garlands and a huge Christmas tree. Then we all went to Riley’s and had a wonderful Christmas, together with our first foster child, Justin, as always. And, yes, we did have that New Year’s Eve house-warming party, and made a point of inviting every one of our new neighbours. Money in the bank, so to speak.

  Three years have passed, and Spencer is doing incredibly well. Now twelve, he attends the same comprehensive as his siblings and, always bright, is also doing well academically. He’s also something of an accomplished artist now, as well, having had a painting chosen to be exhibited in the town hall as part of his school’s art competition. He’s also on the right track emotionally, we’re told. Despite his reluctance, he attended counselling for a further six months after he left us, and has so far managed to keep himself out of trouble. His mother, Kerry, has kept her promise to Spencer, and still attends AA and is doing well. She also swims again, apparently, and both she and Spencer belong to a local swimming club.

  The father, Danny, is just a memory for Spencer. Though he has supervised contact with Spencer’s older siblings, he plays no part in either Spencer’s or his younger siblings’ lives.

  As for my break, well, it turned out to be a short one. Though I did ‘enjoy’ the promised four weeks for settling into our new neighbourhood, John called, in early February, with details of a new child. A nine-year-old called Abigail had just come under the care of social services, having been sole carer for her mum, who had multiple sclerosis, and who was now much too ill to live at home any more.

  A nine-year-old girl who’d been a carer? What could be simpler? I didn’t even let him finish his sentence.

  The next title in the series.

  Read an exclusive excerpt now.

  Chapter 1

  I love my family. I really do. They’re the best in the world in almost every respect. But sometimes they do tend to gang up on me.

  ‘Mum, that’s bonkers,’ my daughter Riley said, as I brandished the clutch of paint-colour cards I had collected that morning from the local DIY superstore. ‘You said it yourself. Trust me, I remember very clearly. You said, “The upstairs is just fine as it is.”’

  ‘Perfect,’ my husband Mike chipped in pointedly. I glared at him. ‘Honest!’ he persisted, ignoring it. ‘That’s what you said, love. That the whole house was perfect. Perfect as it was, you said. Remember?’

  That was true, certainly. But I chose to pretend I hadn’t heard him. Instead I looked at my Kieron, for support. If I could rely on one person at this point, it would be my son. He wouldn’t let them browbeat me in this scurrilous fashion, surely? But I was sorely mistaken.

  ‘Come on, you did, Mum,’ he said, his face a picture of innocence, even as he threw me to the lions. ‘And we did do the downstairs –’

  ‘The whole of the downstairs,’ added Riley. ‘And in a week. Look. I still have the blisters to prove it!’

  I fanned my rainbow of blues and pinks and fixed them all with a steely glare. ‘All right then,’ I said. ‘I’ll be the little red hen, then. I shall just have to do it by myself!’

  Except I wouldn’t. I knew I’d talk them round eventually.

  That had been a week back, and true to my prediction I had managed to persuade Mike of the logic of my plan, and with him on board the kids had caved in and helped too. It had been, I’d decided, an inspired idea. With one bedroom for us, and one earmarked for visitors, we had two bedrooms free for our fostering needs. Two bedrooms, to my mind, meant one blue and one pink. That way, I explained to Mike, we’d be always at the ready, whichever gender John Fulshaw sent us next. John Fulshaw was our fostering-agency link worker, and a dear friend. He’d trained us, and had been by our sides ever since.


  ‘Save time and money doing it this way in the long run,’ I’d pointed out. And I knew Mike couldn’t argue with that. We’d been fostering for four years now and had no thoughts of stopping, so being prepared for anything – and anyone – made sense. Though back at the start, when we’d taken in our first foster child, Justin, I had, I knew, gone slightly overboard. So much so that, when he left us, and our next child was a girl, it was no small task changing our boy’s room to a girl’s room. I’d gone so mad I’d football themed almost everything in it, right down to the border, the carpet, the clock and the curtains – I’d even painted footballs on the bookcase!

  And, as ever, the family rallied round, just as they had this time. It seemed incredible to think we’d been in our new home for barely a month. It was the beginning of February now, and we’d only moved in a couple of days before Christmas. If it hadn’t been for everyone pitching in to get the place the way I wanted it – what with the holidays, and having just waved goodbye to our last foster child, Spencer – I felt sure that I wouldn’t have felt half as settled as I did.

  But, yes, Mike was right, the house was perfect. It had been perfect when we’d viewed it, and was even more perfect now. I could barely believe our luck, really. We’d been eighteen years in our last house, and it had been something of a wrench leaving our children’s childhood home. There were just so many happy memories wrapped up in it.

  And it had been a stressful situation that had prompted it, as well. The move had actually been brought about because of problems with Spencer. He’d been a particularly challenging child to foster, to put it mildly, and his antics (at just eight he’d already been like a one-boy walking crime spree) had caused a lot of upset in the neighbourhood. We weren’t exactly forced out, but a great deal of bad feeling had developed, and it had hit home that bringing children such as this into our lives could (and in this case did) have an impact on others, too.