by Casey Watson
Tyler rolled his eyes and pointedly picked up his football comic. ‘I don’t want to,’ he said, ‘and you can’t make me. They’re just babies. And I don’t want to play with babies. I want Grant,’ he railed then, suddenly animated, and throwing down the comic he’d just picked up. ‘If Grant was here we’d have proper fun, not have to play baby games!’
‘Yes, well,’ I said, conscious that he was trying to work us both up to another rant-fest, ‘you’ll see Grant in school tomorrow and you can have some fun then. In the meantime stop looking for excuses not to be happy, and come down and have some toast or something before they get here.’
‘God,’ he huffed. ‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes, you absolutely have to,’ I said firmly.
It’s never easy keeping a smile glued in place in the face of constant negativity, but I was determined to keep things relentlessly upbeat, even if it did mean I had jaw-ache by the end of the day. It seemed the only thing to do, in any case. There was very little we could do about Tyler’s situation, no, but what I knew we could do was give him something else to focus on – at least till such time as he felt able to sit down and process what his new future might hold.
It was a beautiful late summer day, and we spent almost all of it in the garden. I’d set up the garden dining furniture so that we could have our lunch al fresco and, as Tyler had shown no enthusiasm for my den-building idea, put out all the garden toys, including the giant Jenga and skittles.
Not that it was a pleasing scene of riotous outdoor fun. As I prepared lunch, chatting to Riley and Lauren in the kitchen – and, of course, gurgling at Marley Mae – the men were all in the living room watching some crucial football programme, Levi built up Jenga blocks and Jackson bounced on the trampoline, while Tyler watched from the sidelines, his hood over his head and a scowl on his face.
‘He’s worn it all day,’ I told Lauren when she commented on his black mood.
‘What, the hoodie or the frown?’ Riley said.
‘Both,’ I said. I knocked on the window, then, and opened it. ‘Tyler, go on, love,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you help Levi with the Jenga?’ and though he stood up and mooched over (he wasn’t stupid; he had lots of ‘being helpful’ points to earn if he wanted to keep his phone topped up) it was with about as much enthusiasm as if I’d asked him to put the bins out.
‘You know, I’d just leave him, Casey,’ Lauren said. ‘Let him wallow for a bit, feel sorry for himself. He’s a bright boy – he knows it’s not your fault he can’t go home. So sooner or later he’s bound to stop taking it out on you.’
Riley agreed, and perhaps they were both right. Keen as I was to keep up the assault of cheeriness and positivity, perhaps I should just let him withdraw a bit to lick his wounds.
For a bit, anyway. One thing I wasn’t going to allow to happen was for his birthday to pass under a cloud of misery – not on my watch. Given all I’d seen and heard of his family, I imagined no one had ever made much of a fuss of him on his birthday, and, if it was within my power, I was determined to break the cycle. However feeble the effort they made (and I didn’t doubt they would do very little more than observe the usual niceties), I could at least do that for him – give him a bunch of happy birthday memories to take away with him.
Course, it never occurred to me just how wrong I could be.
Dinner that day was a rowdy affair, what with so many of us crammed round my six-seater garden table, on various battered and different-sized chairs. But at least Tyler had, by that time, thawed slightly. He seemed happy to get involved with the boys’ usual gross jokes about their food, even laughing as Levi told him how sweetcorn always came out in his poo. Which was a touch rank, but at least helped ease the tension. And having roped in as many of the family as I could (Mike would have to be at work, sadly) I also felt more confident that by the time his birthday party came around the following Thursday he would be in the right frame of mind to enjoy it.
He certainly responded positively when I told him about it that evening. ‘Oh, my God!’ he raved, when I handed him some blank invitations. ‘You mean it? I can really have my own pool party? That’s epic! Oh my God!’
‘Yes, of course I mean it,’ I laughed. ‘All organised for after school this Thursday. All you need to do is decide which of your friends you’d like to invite. We can’t manage a whole classful, I’m afraid – too short notice. But if you can choose half a dozen friends, that would be fine. Your friend Cameron, too,’ I added. ‘If you’d like to.’
I’d agonised a little about that, what with him apparently being 15, but, right now, Tyler needed all the friends he could get. And this Cameron was clearly important in his life.
‘Oh my God,’ he said again. Perhaps I needed to pull him up on that – but not today. ‘Can I? He’d be made up! God, this will be great. And with the big inflatable and everything?’ I nodded. ‘Wowww. This’ll be my best ever party, ever. O.M.G. – just you wait till I tell Grant!’
Though this likelihood hadn’t escaped me, I still had to think on my feet. ‘That’s my plan,’ I said, smiling at him, ‘and I’m sure Grant would love to come. Though you might need to bear in mind that he might have something on already. I think I remember John mentioning something he might be doing this week when we talked about it … just to warn you. You know, in case. You know how things are – it’s all a bit short-notice, isn’t it? What with us just having had the summer holidays and everything …’
And I’d obviously kept it light enough to do the trick.
‘Oh, well,’ he said, flapping a dismissive hand, ‘if he can’t come he can’t come. Bet he will, though.’ He chuckled. ‘Like, doh – he wouldn’t want to cancel whatever he was doing?! He will so want to come. Oh, this is epic!’
I called John as soon as Tyler had left for school the following morning. Much as I was cheered by the turnaround in his mood by the end of the weekend, I was now really anxious that Grant not being allowed to go to his party would plunge him straight back to square one.
‘So I was wondering if you could do a bit more of your “interfering busybody from social services” act, and, if they’re dead set on refusing to allow Grant to go – which I’m assuming they will be – could they at least make an excuse or something about why?’
‘I can try,’ John said. ‘But the bottom line is that they’ll do what they like, won’t they? But look on the bright side: Tyler’s not stupid – he’ll know where it’s coming from. He’ll know it’s not Grant who’s rejecting him. He’ll know it’s his stepmum – it’s always been his stepmum. And as there’s no love lost there, that’s not going to rock his world in itself, is it?’
I agreed that, no, it wouldn’t. And thanked John for at least calling them and trying. But, boy, was I in for a surprise.
And that very afternoon, as well. It was just after three thirty when he rounded the corner, and his body language was already ringing warning bells. I’d been on pins a little, wondering what might or might not have transpired in school, and, in readiness – though I wasn’t sure how much help it would be, really – had prepared his favourite tea of pizza and fries, followed by apple pie and custard, which we’d eat together, just the two of us. Mike was going round to Kieron’s straight after school to do some fiddling with some recording equipment with him, so we would have the house to ourselves.
Seeing him now made my face fall – clearly something had happened – but I plastered a smile on as he came through the front door. ‘Hi, love,’ I said. ‘How’s you? How was school today?’
‘Humph!’ he said, as he peeled off his bag. His coat was already in a twizzle round the shoulder strap, and I took both from him, separating them as he yanked down the hem of his school shirt and placed his angry fists once again on his hips. ‘Humph!’ he huffed again.
I went into the kitchen, and he followed.
‘Go on,’ I said, ‘spit it out.’
‘Casey,’ he said, ‘you will never guess what. Our Grant. He can go do on
e as far as I’m concerned. I have totally, totally had it with him.’
‘What happened, love?’ I asked, fearing the worst.
‘I never had a chance to give him the invitation, even!’ he thundered. ‘He just came straight up to me at first break and started having this big go at me! Said I’d really upset Mum – his mum, I told him that right off. Said she was fed up with me telling lies about her – me! – an’ that Dad was fuming. Said I was bringing so much shit down on their heads and that I was to stop being a twat or he wouldn’t speak to me any more. And he was the one who said “twat”, Casey. Not me.’ He paused only to take in air. ‘Can you believe that?’
‘No, love, I can’t,’ I said, even though as soon as he’d said it I really could. Of course this would happen – I should have realised. Divide and rule, wasn’t it? But this was not the place to be fanning fires or increasing acrimony. ‘But something must have happened, mustn’t it? For Grant to say things like that to you. He’s your little brother. He loves you. He –’
‘I know what’s happened,’ Tyler barked, looking worryingly like he might soon reprise his raging bull persona. ‘I know exactly what’s happened. It’s John and Will going round, isn’t it? She’ll have gone mad, wouldn’t she? Started lying about me again, like she always does – and she’ll have done it. She’ll have told him loads of bad shit about me and told him I gotta fuck off out their lives. That’s what’s happened!’
‘Oh, love,’ I began.
‘Yeah, an’ that’s fine by me,’ he spat. ‘Cos you know what? I never, not ever, thought Grant would believe it. He’s even seen some of the shitty things she’s done to me – he knows!’ He paused to inhale again, two pink spots flaming on his cheeks now. ‘So I never gave it him. I told him I’d like to stick his party invitation where the sun doesn’t shine. I gave it to Danny Ellis in year 9 instead – and I wasn’t even planning on inviting him, cos he’s only Cam’s friend really, but I was that mad I did! Honest, Casey – I really was. I was that mad!’
I nodded my understanding, but didn’t go to put my arms around him. He was angry rather than tearful and I felt he’d probably shake me off, and a part of me felt glad that Grant had roused his anger rather than made him cry – in some way, it made the rejection feel less like a rejection – as the power (the power of the pool party invite, now withdrawn) had been firmly in Tyler’s hands. I was also gladdened by the level of his emotional intelligence. Despite his fury, he had understood that Grant’s treatment of him had a very defined root, in the shape of Alicia and the seeds she’d planted in her brother’s mind. All of which was good, and would help him on the journey he had to make. But, damn them, it was rejection, all the same.
‘Oh, sweetie,’ I said, ‘that’s not very nice, is it? But, hey, you have your friends coming and you’ll have a great party, and it’s his loss. But you know,’ I said, risking placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘your Grant’s like piggy in the middle a bit here, isn’t he? I’ll bet your parents – I mean, Alicia and your dad – have been giving him a bit of a hard time, and he’s stuck not knowing which way to turn. He’s bound to feel he has to be loyal to them, but he also wants to be a good brother … it can’t be easy for him, all this, can it?’
‘They’re not my parents.’
‘I know … I’m sorry, love.’
‘She never was anyway and he’s not no more, either. I’m not bothered no more anyway. Forget ’em. Forget them all. And you can tell them – whatever they send round for me on Thursday, I don’t want it, okay? They can stick their birthday presents up their arses!’
And with that decisive comment – grimly echoing what his father had said only a few days previously – Tyler rolled up his shirtsleeves and yanked out a kitchen chair. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’m starving. What’s for tea?’
Chapter 12
Tyler cried later, just as I’d known he would. We had our tea, during which all he talked about was the coming party, and then, when Mike came home, he recounted the whole thing again to him. Which was a good sign, I thought, in the midst of such a bleak situation – at least it indicated how close he now felt to us. I was also gratified to watch how intently he listened to Mike when he said much the same as I had about Grant’s difficult situation, and how readily he seemed to take all that on board.
We then watched the usual soaps, and he did his usual flurry of texting – no doubt filling in interested parties about the injustices that had been done to him. And that was fine. I knew he needed to get it off his chest.
It was only when we went to bed ourselves that I became aware of the almost inaudible sound of crying; he was clearly doing his best to try and be sure we didn’t hear.
I went and knocked on his door softly. It was ajar anyway, so I also pushed it open, and he immediately turned towards me, scrubbing at his face.
‘You okay, love?’ I whispered. ‘Shall I come in for a bit? You want a cuddle?’ Without waiting for an answer, I padded across to the bed.
He wriggled up and had his face buried in my chest almost as soon as I sat down, and I held him tight, letting the sobs come, rubbing his back.
‘I know,’ I said softly. ‘I know how much it hurts, love.’
To which his answer was to simply hold me tighter.
We must have sat there like that for a good 20 minutes. He didn’t seem to want to talk, and I didn’t try to make him. Then, finally, he pulled away and sniffed. His eyes were puffy, his ridiculously long lashes clumped together, as he looked at me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
‘Sweetheart, why on earth would you be sorry?’ I whispered back. ‘We all need to cry sometimes. That’s what makes us human. And, listen you, that’s what I’m here for.’
He gave me a wan smile and asked me if he could have a drink of water. So I went downstairs and got him one, my heart filling up every bit as much as the glass I was holding. God, what I wouldn’t like to say to certain persons, and in no uncertain terms.
I padded back upstairs, into Tyler’s bedroom, and placed the glass on his bedside cabinet. Then tiptoed out again. He was already fast asleep.
In the end, we bought Tyler a new mobile phone. Levi had soon forgotten about his secret mission to find our what Tyler wanted for his birthday, but one thing that had happened during the course of the previous Sunday was that Jackson had come into the kitchen while Kieron and I were washing up asking, ‘Nanna, what’s a shittyshittyphone?’
Which naturally had both me and Kieron stifling giggles, but also planted the seed of an idea in my head. Even if it wasn’t quite as shittyshitty as he obviously deemed it to be – it worked, didn’t it? – it was pretty elderly. It was probably even more prehistoric than mine was, which was saying something – and Kieron agreed that any sane boy of his age who didn’t already have one would want a smartphone more than pretty much anything.
So off I went to the shops, mostly baffled (as I still am) about smartphone technology, but with a name on a piece of paper provided by my son, and the aim of finding Tyler something called a blackberry.
Or, more correctly, ‘BlackBerry’, as was written on the note. And I duly got one. To me, it was simply an expensive phone with tiny keyboard buttons – I could barely even see them, let alone use them – but to all the kids (at that time, anyway) they were life support systems. You could go online, access social media, take and store photos, and even watch movies on them apparently. Which was impressive, if slightly baffling, and I was pleased I’d succumbed, even though it cost way more than we’d intended spending.
I got it home, wrapped it and added it to the little pile – one that already included gifts from Riley and David, Kieron and Lauren and, bless them, my mum and dad, who’d grown very fond of our latest addition to the family.
There was only one notable absence – anything from Tyler’s own family, a circumstance that had been on my mind since he’d made his pithy comment about what they could do with their gifts. Would there even be anything for him?
I knew that, subconsciously, it had been that possibility that had been instrumental in my and Mike’s impulsive decision to buy him such an expensive gift. Not that money could buy happiness – any idiot already knew that – any more than could the lavish birthday breakfast I had prepared for him fill the hole in the present pile.
He was thrilled to bits when I told him what we were having, even so. ‘Pancakes, with strawberries, cream and syrup for the birthday boy,’ I announced when he came down. ‘Go on, go and sit at the table and open up your presents, then we’ll get stuck into them, okay?’
Tyler looked in wonderment at the pile of gaily wrapped gifts. ‘These are all for me? From you?’ he asked, looking genuinely staggered by this news.
‘Not all from me and Mike – there’s gifts from all the family,’ I told him. ‘Go on, get stuck into them. It might be your birthday but you still have to be at school on time, love.’
He needed no further prompting, opening the one from my parents first, which was a pair of new football socks and a DVD. ‘Look, Casey,’ he said excitedly, ‘it’s a goals one! That’s epic!’
Equally epic was the present from Kieron and Lauren, which was a book. ‘It’s the Rooney book!’ he said, doing a fist pump. ‘Yesss! And look – it’s even brand new!’
It made me smile to see his joy at being given a brand new book (was that a first?) even though I wasn’t really sure what Rooney had done to elicit such excitement, bar being some footballer or other. But excited Tyler was, eagerly diving in to check out the photos in it.
‘Come on,’ I chivvied. ‘Next one!’
He duly obliged, opening a series of boxes to reveal a crisp 20 pound note – his artfully wrapped gift from Riley and David. ‘Whoah! A full 20, all for me!’ he gasped. He looked at me earnestly then. ‘Casey, I might just treat you and Mike to a meal with this. Take you for a pizza or something and then maybe open a bank account with the rest. Now I’m 12 I should have a bank account, shouldn’t I?’