by Casey Watson
‘Oh, absolutely,’ he said. ‘I have no worries on that score. And to be honest, I’m not surprised things have taken a bit of a slide. Given how blatantly the family have rejected him, it would really have been much more surprising if he hadn’t kicked off in some way. All that hurt and anger’s got to be expressed somehow, hasn’t it? And I suppose a bit of light pilfering and drug-dabbling behind the bus shelter – however bad – has got to be better than another episode of violence. Not that I’m condoning it, obviously.’
‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘But yes, you’re right. And his remorse feels genuine, too. Course, that’s not to say we won’t have some sort of rumpus re the money. I just hope he owns up to it, that’s all.’
Which he did. Immediately. As soon as I brought it up. He was home dead on time, just as I’d optimistically predicted, and I saw no point in putting off tackling him about it – the sooner it was out there, the sooner it could be dealt with. The only reason I’d not spoken to him about it that morning, really, was because I felt it was too much to risk a double-whammy of tellings-off; whatever I might have said to him, I knew it might just create enough anxiety in his mind that he contemplated a fall-back of running away to escape it.
But we were back in my kitchen – him with a glass of milk, me with a coffee – and I only had to say ‘Tyler, I’ve been talking to my dad …’ for tears to gather in his eyes.
Tyler being the age he was, I’d half-expected an immediate denial. So many kids – the kids we dealt with – practised the ‘I ain’t done nothing’ rule. Deny everything, so the logic went, unless the evidence was overwhelming. And then keep at it – just deny it some more. Or if not – some schtick about how he was only borrowing it, or some such. But here we were, with me not even having accused Tyler of anything, and there were already tears tracking down his cheeks. I remained silent for a few moments, while he sat there and squirmed, hands clasped in his lap, gaze directed at the table.
‘Tyler,’ I said eventually. ‘Is there something you need to tell me?’
Yes. There clearly was. And he did. Well, not in detail, since he didn’t really need to. He told me he’d nicked the tenner and that he just did it on the spur of the moment, and that as soon as he’d done it he wished he’d hadn’t and that he promised he’d pay it back.
I told him I knew. And that I believed him. And that, though he was rather light on points now, I would see that he did. And that the most important thing I had to say to him was the same as I’d said that morning: that it was all about treating people the way you’d want to be treated and that he must never do anything like that again.
And he just cried and cried, sitting at the table, head sitting on crossed forearms, and I left him to it, and pottered around the kitchen, knowing that he was crying because he felt bad about what he’d done, which by any yardstick was a very positive thing.
After a few minutes, when he finally raised his head, I was ready, passing him a wodge of kitchen roll so he could wipe his face.
‘There,’ I said. ‘Better?’
He nodded wanly as he blew his nose.
‘Come on,’ I said, holding a hand out. ‘Come here.’
He looked confused at first, anxious, unsure what was expected of him, and I thought angrily of the stepmother who’d knocked him about, and, when not hitting him, had been so cruel and cold.
‘What?’ Tyler asked, edging round the kitchen table.
I changed the hand to both arms to make things clearer. ‘I want a hug,’ I said, ‘and I think you could use one too, couldn’t you?’
He stepped into my arms then and I held him tight, kissing the top of his head, which, of course, made him start crying all over again.
But that was okay, I thought. That was just as it should be.
Chapter 15
My mum and dad didn’t want to make a big fuss about everything, but it was important Tyler face them, so I wheeled him round there that weekend and had him say sorry to them both personally, as well as reassure them he’d be paying them back just as soon as he’d earned sufficient pocket money.
I knew my mum would have told him not to worry, so I’d primed her first and they both managed to look sufficiently stern as he mumbled his apologies.
And that was where I thought we’d leave things. But it seemed I was wrong.
‘Here, Casey,’ Tyler said to me the following Saturday morning, shoving a folded-over piece of paper into my hand. It was torn from an exercise book.
‘What’s this?’ I asked him.
‘It’s for Grandad,’ he said. ‘And Nan as well,’ he added, blushing furiously.
I was confused for half a second, wondering what he was talking about, as there’d never been mention of any grandparents being in the picture before.
‘Grandad?’ I asked.
‘Your dad,’ he corrected. Then adding ‘That’s what he told me to call him’ somewhat defensively. ‘He did, honest. He said it sounded silly to call him Mr Watson and that he liked Grandad better.’ Which made me feel terrible. It would have been just like my dad to do that – as far as he was concerned, why not? And now Tyler felt he had to justify being granted permission to use a term up to now he’d not had the privilege of using for anyone. I could have kicked myself.
‘Of course,’ I said, nodding. ‘I know that, love. I was just wondering what about him. You want me to give this to him then, do you?’
He nodded. ‘It’s just a letter to say a proper sorry. You know, about that tenner. I feel bad that he thinks I’m a robber now. I mean I know he won’t want me doing his roses or anything no more, or anyway, an’ it’s not asking him to or anything. I just wanted to, like, tell him I’m sorry … You can read it if you like.’
Now I’d gone from wanting to kick myself to needing to dislodge the lump forming in my throat. What a learning curve this whole business was turning out to be.
I smiled at him. ‘No, no, it’s not for me, is it? So I won’t read it. But I’m popping round later, while you’re out with your friends, so I’ll give it to him then. And, Tyler,’ I added, dropping slightly to be at his level, ‘thanks so much for this, love. Dad’ll really appreciate it. It’s a very grown-up thing to do and, even better, no one even asked you to do it, so it’s extra special, and don’t you worry – I’m sure Dad’ll still want your help. He says you’re an excellent little gardener.’
All of which was true. Though he’d recovered well since his op, he’d still lost a bit of his get up and go, and Tyler had proved to be an unexpected tonic for him. Mum had confided that, more than that, even, he’d really enjoyed having him around because he could have a joke with him and pass on all the many words of manly wisdom that Kieron was too busy and grown-up to listen to often these days and that Levi and Jackson were still a bit small for.
‘He’s been a blessing,’ my mum had said. ‘Really helped get your dad back on track.’ And, fingers firmly crossed, that meant two of them.
Tyler’s cinema trip had been hard won, and that was as it should have been. He couldn’t have worked harder to earn enough points to make it happen, and as it was with a couple of mates from school – mates who were his own age – I was particularly keen to see it happen. Though we’d yet to fix up a visit from Bob to chat to him about drugs, we’d been laying the groundwork, gently trying to impress upon Tyler that Cameron and his other older friends weren’t necessarily doing stuff that he wanted to be getting into – though still trying to be very softly-softly about it. These were his mates and he obviously felt very loyal.
‘Now don’t you be getting into any trouble,’ I warned as I pulled up outside the cinema complex a couple of hours later to drop him off. He promised he wouldn’t. ‘And call me as soon as you come out,’ I added, ‘and either Mike or I will come and fetch you, okay?’
He chewed his lip for a second or two, making no move to get out of the car.
‘Okay?’ I said again.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, ‘only, Casey, it’s
just that they’re going for a pizza straight after – only next door. Right there.’ He pointed. ‘And I know I don’t have enough points and that, but could I sort of –’
I cut him off, having decided. ‘Yes, okay, you can. Just an extra hour, okay? And you make sure you ring us in good time so we can be here before your mates leave. I don’t want you hanging about in the dark.’
‘Yay!’ he said, doing a little fist pump before leaning across to kiss my cheek. ‘That’s epic!’
‘Yes, well, don’t forget I’ll be leaving you some spring cleaning chores to do tomorrow, will you?’
‘Casey,’ he said, giggling, ‘you can’t spring clean. It’s October!’
‘Off with you,’ I said, shooing him out of the car. ‘When it comes to cleaning, I can do anything I flipping like!’
Dad, as I’d expected, was thrilled to get Tyler’s note. He read it straight away, his eyes glistening, I noticed, as he took off his reading glasses. ‘He’s not a bad lad,’ he said. ‘Given everything, he could be a lot, lot worse, couldn’t he?’ And he should know, I thought, with us having exposed him to so many damaged foster kids now. ‘And there’s the proof, right there,’ he said, waggling the piece of paper, ‘that he’s got it in him to know when he’s done wrong.’
Well, once he’d been found out, anyway, I thought, but didn’t say. And, actually, Dad made a good point. He’d obviously been dying to confess, hence those tears before I’d even asked him, and, more to the point, he had already apologised and been told that was the end of the matter. Yet it had obviously still been eating at him, and that was an encouraging sign of empathy. So, after two cups of coffee and a slice of my mum’s lemon drizzle cake, I felt a real spring in my step as I headed home to my spring cleaning. Even if it was October.
I got stuck straight in, too, as was always my way. I didn’t know what it was about cleaning the house that I loved so much, but I had an inkling that over the years it had probably saved me a fortune in headache pills and therapy. Particularly when I got really into it, pulling out appliances, washing down walls and skirtings, and generally ousting every scrap of grime.
I was so engrossed that I didn’t even hear my mobile ringing, and it was Mike who answered Tyler’s call to be brought home.
‘You go,’ he suggested, ‘while I clear up your cleaning things. I don’t know, Case – I swear this kitchen looks messier than it did when you started!’
‘Oh nonsense,’ I chided, stripping off my Marigolds. ‘It’s pristine! Well, it will be once you’ve pushed the cooker and the fridge-freezer back, and, um, emptied the bucket and squeezed the mop and put all the cleaning stuff away.’
He rolled his eyes and I headed out of the door.
It was just dark by the time I returned to the cinema complex and it was a few moments before I could make Tyler out, standing with a couple of other lads by the far corner of the building.
I wasn’t sure I recognised them – were they the lads who he’d run to when I’d dropped him off? I peered closer to the windscreen to try and get a better look. No, they weren’t. They were definitely a lot bigger than Tyler, and as I drew up in the car I could see that one of them was smoking a cigarette – or something more sinister.
But they were certainly friends; I could tell that by the way they were all joshing with each other and laughing. I switched off the engine and opened the car door.
Tyler saw me then, and, after waving a farewell to the other boys, jogged over the tarmac to the car.
‘Who are they?’ I asked him as we climbed back in. ‘They’re not the boys you went with, are they?’
He shook his head and reached for his seatbelt. ‘No, that’s Carl and James. They’re mates of Cam’s. I just bumped into them – they’re going in to the next showing.’
‘What happened to your other mates?’
‘Oh, they just got picked up by Dan’s mum. She said she’d drop me but I told her you were on your way, and I said it was all right because Carl and James were there.’
Which was fair enough, I supposed. ‘Tyler,’ I had to ask, though, ‘was one of them smoking dope? You know how I feel about that, don’t you? You know, boys of that age …’
I was already wishing I hadn’t said it even as I did, and maybe I was right to. ‘No!’ he said, genuinely indignant. ‘It was just a proper fag! God’s sake! Can’t I even talk to them now? They’re my friends!’
They were still standing there, watching us leave, and I felt bad. They were just lads themselves. Older lads, yes, and, yes, they probably did smoke dope, but that didn’t mean they weren’t loyal, longstanding mates. And it wasn’t for me to judge – no, my own kids wouldn’t have hung around with much older lads, but that was due to circumstance – Tyler’s childhood had been very, very different. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ I said. ‘I was just over-reacting, I suppose. I just worry about you, that’s all. I just don’t want you to get into any trouble.’ I smiled, ‘Not if it means Mr Smart coming round the house once a week for ever more!’
He lightened up then. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you mustn’t think everyone’s gonna get me into trouble. I can think for myself. You can trust me.’
Wise words under normal circumstances, but so far life with Tyler had been a long way from that. I ruffled his head and then turned the car around and we set off for home. ‘Okay, deal,’ I said, ‘and if we’re lucky, Mike will have finished clearing up the clearing up so we can settle down to telly right away.’
Which was pretty much what we did, punctuated by intense philosophical conversations between Tyler and Mike about both the incredible special effects in the latest X Men movie and which superpowers would be the best ones to have. It was a lovely evening – nothing exciting, just relaxing family time in front of the telly – but those were sometimes the best. The ones that made the world go round.
And if I could have bottled it, maybe I should have.
It was still fully dark when something woke me up. But I’d been asleep a fair while, I could tell. I was very alert, coming fully awake in a matter of moments, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the blackness. I wasn’t sure what had disturbed me, but then, a second later, I tuned back into it. A faint rhythmic thudding sound, accompanied by what? Crying? Careful not to disturb Mike, I twisted my legs round and down, out of the bed, and checked the time. A little after four.
Puzzled, I tiptoed out of our bedroom and padded across the landing, realising that I had been right in my guess – it had been the sound of crying, but that strange rhythmic sound, what was that?
Tyler’s door was ajar – wide enough for a thread of light to be visible underneath it, and as I pushed it open fully I was faced with the answer to my unspoken question; he was sitting on his bed, mobile phone in hand, crying his eyes out and repeatedly hitting the back of his head against the wall.
‘Tyler! What the hell?’ I said, rushing across to him, to try and stop him whacking his head. Close up both the sound and the sight were sickening. I managed to swap the hard wall for the softness of my supporting hand, but at the cost of the pain he was inflicting on my knuckles as he continued to thrust his head backwards.
‘Tyler!’ I snapped, trying to get his attention, ‘stop doing that! Stop it! What’s wrong? Tyler, you’re hurting yourself!’
Had already hurt himself, I realised, feeling the stickiness beneath my fingers and pulling them away to find them smeared with glistening bright red blood, and belatedly realising it was coursing down his neck and dripping from his chin. Christ, I thought, how long had he been doing this?
‘Mike!’ I yelled. ‘Mike! Come here! I need you!’ I then continued my attempts to stop Tyler’s relentless head-banging, grabbing his shoulders and trying to pulling him closer to me and far enough away from the wall that even if he flung his head back it wouldn’t make contact.
‘Tyler!’ I tried again. ‘Speak to me, please! What’s wrong? What’s happened? Why are you doing this?’
Now he did seem to notice me, sudd
enly making eye contact. ‘Fuck off, Casey,’ he roared, trying to wriggle free. ‘He’s dead! He’s fucking dead!’
He pulled free again then and whacked his head back, harder than ever. There was blood smeared all over the wall, I realised. I felt physically sick. Thank God for Mike, then, who swooped in, while I was still trying to wrestle with Tyler, and who, with a ‘Move, Casey!’, scooped him up as if he was feather-light, clasped him to his chest and carried him out of the room.
I was still trying to take everything in. ‘What the hell’s happened?’ I said as I scrambled up and followed him. ‘Who’s dead?’
‘Never mind that now,’ Mike commanded. ‘Casey, bathroom light – we need to look at his head.’
I reached for the pull-switch, while Mike grabbed a towel from the rail and pressed it against the back of Tyler’s head. The strong male presence had seemingly caused a change in him; he was limp now, thank God, weeping quietly into Mike’s chest.
‘Okay, lad,’ Mike soothed, sitting down carefully on the toilet, with Tyler, who looked so incredibly small in his arms. ‘Casey, grab another towel and wet it, please?’ he said, carefully moving the one he already had, and I could tell by his intake of breath that it didn’t look good.
‘Do you think we’ll need to go to A&E?’ I asked, handing him the fresh one. He nodded. ‘Without a doubt. It’s a head wound, isn’t it? Might not need many stitches,’ he added, inspecting it – I didn’t really want to look yet – ‘but he’ll need an X-ray, won’t he, given how he’s done it.’
Tyler at this time still had his face in Mike’s T-shirt, his shoulders moving as rhythmically as his head had been. ‘Love, tell us,’ I urged him. ‘Who’s dead? What’s happened?’ But he just cried all the more and Mike shook his head.
‘Love, go and fetch him some trackies and stuff, and get yourself something too. We need to get him down there, and the sooner we go the better.’