Nowhere to Go

by Casey Watson

  I smiled. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Tyler,’ I said. ‘But no need to buy us a pizza. That money is for you to spend on you, love. Or save – and yes, of course we can set you up with a bank account. And then we’ll treat you to a pizza to celebrate.’

  But by now he wasn’t even listening, as he’d opened the final package – the one I’d put at the bottom of the pile specially.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! A BlackBerry! Oh, Casey, thanks soooooo much! I’ve always wanted one of these! Oh God, this is epic – can I take it to school? Will you and Mike set it up for me? Has it got credit?’

  ‘No, yes and yes,’ I laughed. ‘Calm down, kiddo! No, you can’t take it to school – you know they’re not allowed, and yes, Mike will do that and yes, we’ve put on some credit. Now. Pancakes. How many d’you think you can eat?’

  ‘At least four,’ he said with some conviction, as I duly dished them up for him. ‘Oh, this is my best birthday ever!’ He munched happily for a bit on his sticky, gooey mess, then something crossed his face and I knew what might be coming. ‘Did anything come from my dad yet?’ he asked once he’d swallowed his latest mouthful.

  ‘No, love,’ I said quickly, keeping my tone light. ‘The postman doesn’t get here till you’ve gone to school, does he? Speaking of which, look at the time – chop chop, now! We’ve both got a busy day ahead, what with your party and everything, haven’t we?’

  And though his mouth was too full of pancake again for him to answer, the shadow of anxiety on his face had gone away. I just hoped there’d be no cause for it to return.

  Arriving almost on cue, just after Tyler had headed off to school, the postman, predictably, had nothing. And I cursed myself for allowing either of us to even hope he might. But a part of me hoped anyway. They were his parents, for God’s sake! Well, his parent and legal guardian, which amounted to the same thing in my book. And how could anyone be so cruel as to punish a kid like that? No, they would surely have something for him – perhaps via John or Will even?

  I was clutching at straws and I knew it. And as the little voice in my head kept reminding me, there were lots and lots of parents who’d be cruel enough to punish a kid like that. Who was I kidding?

  I called Will. Perhaps he knew something I didn’t, either way, and though I knew he’d spoken to his brother about having the inflatable for the party, he might well have forgotten that today was the actual day. Which, of course, he wouldn’t have, I realised, even as I heard the ring tone. He was coming to the flipping party, wasn’t he?

  ‘They’ve said nothing to me, Casey,’ he said, also predictably. ‘Sorry. I did nudge them, though. Told them they could have your address if they needed it and everything. D’you want me to give them a call and find out? Can’t hurt.’

  Well, it could – they could tell him to take a running jump, couldn’t they? And after the previous week’s débâcle they might well. But this wasn’t about fighting social services – this was about remembering a child’s birthday. And if they’d not got anything perhaps they’d at least be guilted into doing so. Yes, it would be late, but I could make something up about that if need be …

  I was still pondering that when the phone rang again, and I crossed my fingers as I picked it up. And it was Will again – the unhappy bearer of bad news.

  ‘There’s not going to be a present,’ he said flatly. ‘Beyond belief, all this is. It was him – Gareth – and he seemed shocked I was even asking. Not this year, he said. All about learning lessons. Said Tyler had crossed a line and needed to learn “what was what” – to use his parlance. That it wouldn’t be right to reward him with a present after what he did.’

  ‘What?’ the word exploded out of me. ‘But it’s his bloody birthday! And how the hell can they expect him to follow that sort of twisted logic? He did wrong. They took him to bloody court for that, for God’s sake. And he’s been punished! Jesus! What the hell am I supposed to say to the poor kid?’

  ‘God knows,’ said Will, ‘but whatever it is, I suggest you count to ten before you say it. I’m so sorry. I tried my best – even offered to drive over and pick up a card at least, but the phrase “didn’t want to know” doesn’t even cover it.’

  ‘It’s really true, isn’t it?’ I said dejectedly. ‘They really do want him out of their lives, don’t they? This whole thing – this whole going to court thing – has all been part of the plan, hasn’t it? Given it to them on a plate – a reason to get shot of him. God, I feel like swearing, I really do.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know what to say to you. Look, I’ll be seeing you later anyway – you want me to take him to one side, have a chat, you know, once the party’s done?’

  ‘I know what to say,’ I said. ‘To certain people, anyway. Particularly to that Alicia – she’s behind all of this, I know it. But I won’t. I’ll hold my tongue for Tyler’s sake. And thanks, Will – that’s kind of you, but it’s okay. I’ll handle it.’

  Not that I had the faintest idea how.

  In the end I decided it would be better to let Tyler enjoy his party before dropping the bombshell that his so-called family had so badly let him down. I whizzed him upstairs as soon as he got in from school with instructions to get changed as quickly as he could so that we could be at the leisure centre before any of his friends arrived.

  And he didn’t even ask me, which made me feel sure he’d been thinking – that it had been on his mind all that day, same as mine. And that (perhaps as a consequence of seeing Grant? I didn’t know) he’d decided to block it out, let well alone. And, sad as it was, that was another example of his emotional intelligence; he was protecting himself, shutting it out – I’d have put money on it.

  It was also a blessing because it let me off the hook – for at least the next couple of hours, I wouldn’t have to break his heart again.

  And the party was a roaring success. While Riley and I sat poolside and watched, Tyler and his pals (and Will, bless him) had the best time in the water; even the skinny 15-year-old who’d come alone on the bus and who had so shyly introduced himself as Cameron.

  ‘Is that the lad he’s always hung out with?’ Riley wanted to know.

  I nodded. ‘Another horribly neglected kid, by all accounts.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Riley said. ‘Either that, or he’s taking something he shouldn’t be, I reckon.’

  I nodded grimly. ‘From what Tyler’s mentioned, I think it’s a bit of both, love.’

  There was no mention of Grant’s absence by anyone, though, and I was very thankful. It only reared its head at the end when the mums began arriving, and though it might just have been me reading something into nothing I could almost see Tyler’s mind working. Why not me? I could sense him thinking. Why can’t I have a normal family like everyone else?

  Why indeed?

  There was still the small – huge – matter of his presents to address, and as we headed home, having dropped the enigmatic Cameron at a designated corner on the way, I could feel the weight of having to tell Tyler what I’d been told pressing down on me.

  There was a short reprieve, in that Mike had set up the BlackBerry for him, but I knew it was only a matter of minutes before he would ask the question – either that or he resolutely wouldn’t ask the question, which would be worse, because then it would just sit there.

  ‘So nothing came, then,’ he said, as I put his swimming things in the washing machine. It wasn’t a question.

  I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he added quickly. ‘I knew they wouldn’t send nothing. Why would they send me a present after what they said to Grant?’

  I tried to keep him positive. It was almost a knee-jerk reaction. ‘I know what you’re saying, love,’ I reassured him. ‘But that doesn’t mean they won’t. I mean, I know things are difficult right now and that your dad might be a bit cross with you, but, but you know, that might change once Alicia calms down about it all, mightn’t it? And then it’ll be like two birthdays, won’t it?’


  I could have kicked myself even as the words were coming out of my mouth. Why was I saying that when all my instincts – and the current facts – told me it wasn’t true?

  Tyler had no truck with it either. ‘She won’t calm down. She hates me. And my dad don’t love me neither. It’s okay,’ he said again, but now I could see that his chin was wobbling. I went across and hugged him tight, not caring that it would bring on the tears he was trying so hard not to shed.

  They were springing in my own eyes as well, as I held him. ‘They just don’t love me, Casey,’ he sobbed. ‘Nobody does!’

  ‘Don’t be daft, love,’ I said. ‘Who couldn’t love you? You’re a very special boy – and I, for one, am proud of you. And so’s Mike. What with everything you’ve been through, and how well you’ve managed to handle it …’

  But he was shaking his head. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m not special. I’m rubbish. If I was special, why did my mum leave me? Why’d she kill herself like that? I just want a mum, Casey. Just want a mum of my own. Just want someone proper to take care of me!’

  He pulled away then and looked up at me, his face wet and shiny. ‘That’s all I want. An’ I’ll be good, honest. Can’t you be my mum?’

  Chapter 13

  It all seemed to fall apart very quickly. As I suppose I should have expected, given how long we’d been fostering now, and given Tyler’s heartfelt request for me to become his mum now. How did you deal with that? I wished I knew, but it never got any easier, ever. In a parallel universe, perhaps all the foster parents in the world could become parents to all the kids who needed parents, but in the real world that simply wasn’t the way things worked out. There were just too many kids desperately in need of them.

  Yes, it was a course of action some took; there were lots of foster parents who ended up adopting a child they had taken on and, who knew? One day that might happen to us. But right now it wasn’t an option. I spent that entire night going over and over everything in my mind, trying to think of a way to explain that Mike and I couldn’t become Tyler’s parents – but there was no way of ever sugaring such a pill.

  I thought back to Justin, the first child we’d ever fostered, right after training, and the number of times we’d chewed over the scenario of keeping him till he’d grown up – of giving up the fostering, almost as soon as we’d begun it, in order to perhaps enable this one child to have a ‘normal’ life. But that word ‘perhaps’ was so incredibly loaded; we knew all about that from doing our training. We were there to take on ‘difficult’ kids, and Justin was very much that – a child who had been so profoundly emotionally damaged that it would never be more than a possibility that he’d be okay, and the same applied to pretty much every child we’d had since.

  Yes, some were doing okay so far, but others were struggling and always would – and the reality was that the effects of trauma and abuse in early life often didn’t become fully apparent till the child was well into adulthood. That was the deal. That was the kind of fostering we did – tackling the kids who’d been so battered by life and toxic relationships that it was odds-on that they were mentally scarred for life.

  And we’d made a pact, Mike and I, about what we were in it for. We had our own cherished kids and grandkids and we needed to consider their needs as well; was it fair to them for us to take on a child who might become a challenging adult? Whose troubles might impact negatively on the whole family for years to come?

  It wasn’t just that, either – we also had a plan. To help not just one but a series of children – as far as we could anyway – till we got too old and cronky to cope. Perhaps then we’d bow out. Slow down. Concentrate on the currently growing band of grandkids. Who knew? But right now, our decision to keep accepting new kids had, we felt sure, been the right one. We’d had several more since Justin had left us, none of whom we would have been able to take in had we let our hearts hold sway and changed our minds.

  Every foster parent will be familiar with the way your thoughts go round and round in such a situation, with the guilt and the indecision and most of all the heartache – in knowing you’re going to have to spell all that out to a distressed child. I knew it was never going to get any easier, and it wasn’t.

  In the days that followed, and as the days turned to weeks, and September became October, I watched Tyler slide into an emotional malaise that neither Mike nor I knew how to pull him out from.

  It wasn’t overt. There were no violent outbursts, and no major tantrums, just a gradual bedding-in of the truth he’d always feared: that he was unloved by his family, that even his little brother had turned against him, and that life was basically as shitty as his old phone.

  We tried hard to keep him positive, as did Will, as did the fusty Mr Smart, who’d steadily changed from sermonising about behaviour (or so it seemed when I earwigged from the kitchen) to trying desperately to coax a shred of positivity about the future from his young charge.

  I kept dragging him round to Mum and Dad’s too – it was one thing that always seemed to brighten him up slightly. As if his relationship with these two jolly elderly people was an oasis of peace and calm amid the mental turmoil of his young life.

  But it was his friend Cameron – the boy I’d only briefly met and didn’t really know – who seemed to be the main rock to which he clung. Unsurprisingly, really, given that they’d known one another for so long; he was the nearest thing to a loyal older brother he’d ever had.

  But Cameron was a troubled lad himself. So it shouldn’t have come as any surprise that this was a friendship that wasn’t necessarily going to be a good thing. Not given Cameron’s age, not given his mildly feral situation, and definitely not given the distinctly dodgy, druggy friends that I knew he mostly hung around with.

  Which was a huge worry, because the one thing Mike and I had to do, above all, was to keep Tyler on the straight and narrow and away from anything dodgy, not just because of his supervision order, important though that was. It was also because if he was to have a fighting chance of being placed in a permanent foster home, he had to come across as a kid that someone wouldn’t be frightened to take on.

  It was a Thursday evening when it all began unravelling. Tyler had been generally good about coming straight home from school if he didn’t have any after-school activities – presumably because he was hungry, and because he didn’t really have much else to do, particularly if Cameron wasn’t around. But today he didn’t return, and when it got to five I began getting antsy – particularly when I went up to his bedroom and discovered that the one thing I couldn’t discover was his BlackBerry. Which meant that he’d taken it to school.

  Which was against the rules, and he knew it.

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ I said to Mike when he got in from work. ‘I just feel it in my bones.’

  ‘Try not to panic, love,’ he soothed. ‘Perhaps he’s just testing the boundaries. You know what kids are like – and I mean all kids. Not just kids dealing with the crap Tyler’s had to. He’s probably gone off to someone’s house and it’s a serious case of peer pressure stopping him from letting you know. Let’s eat our tea and put his under some cling-film for later – I think that’s best. Let’s not panic till we have to, eh?’

  But by eight we had no choice but to panic. Without Tyler’s phone we had no way of getting hold of any of his friends – his old one was in his bedroom but his sim card was obviously not – and I cursed myself for not having thought about trying to get a couple of their numbers. I was also beginning to wonder quite what we should do, because there was the small matter of the supervision order to take into account. If we alerted anyone in authority – Will, say, or John, or the emergency duty team – we would straight away land Tyler in all sorts of grief, something I made a point of pointing out in my latest voicemail.

  But, at the same time, he was just 12 and it would have been both unprofessional and irresponsible not to take one of those steps, and very soon, too. We were fortunate, tho
ugh – Kieron came to the rescue.

  Well, came up with a plan at least, bless him, for which I was very grateful. He’d only popped round to give Mike back his drill – he and Lauren had been putting shelves up – and was supposed to be heading straight home to dinner.

  ‘But why don’t we just head out and look for him?’ he suggested, once I’d outlined our worries.

  ‘I suppose,’ I began. ‘But I wouldn’t know where to look …’

  ‘I would, Mum,’ Kieron answered, ‘because I do.’

  And I noticed something straight away – that his expression was telling me something he hadn’t yet said. Kieron was not good at artifice.

  ‘I suppose you do,’ I said, though not loading the statement with any undercurrent. Not yet. Of course he’d know where to look – he was a youth worker, wasn’t he? It was his job to know where the kids locally hung out. He and Lauren also volunteered once a week for a local homeless charity, so he also knew where all the druggy and disaffected kids went. There was more to this – I just knew it. And I was right.

  ‘Mum, don’t go off on one, okay?’

  ‘About what?’ I chipped in.

  ‘About what I’m going to tell you, okay? Mum, I’ve seen Cameron hanging about. He’s down the town centre all the time, smoking dope. And – um – well … I’ve seen Tyler with him there once as well. I said not to go off on one!’ he added, presumably seeing my horrified expression. ‘It was only once, and it was the daytime and he seemed fine – even said hello to me. And I told him then that it wasn’t the place for him to be chilling and sort of implied that if I saw him there again I’d have to tell you too.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Great!’ I repeated to Mike, who’d just joined us. He’d gone to get our coats and his car keys, and had only heard the tail end of it.

  ‘So that’s what I’m doing now,’ Kieron pointed out. ‘Okay? So shall we go?’