The Wild Child

by Casey Watson

  Which neither seemed to be sitting and watching. Indeed, neither boy was sitting at all. Tyler was standing behind the sofa, both hands gripping the headrest, while Connor was standing in front of it, looking cartoonishly frozen in mid-sprint, as if in a party game someone had just shouted ‘Freeze!’

  I ignored him and looked at Tyler. ‘Ty, what’s going on?’

  ‘It’s that little idiot,’ Tyler replied, jabbing a finger in Connor’s direction. ‘Just because I wouldn’t play his stupid “smack-each-other-round-the-head-with-cushions” game.’ He pointed to his book, which was lying open at the other end of the sofa. ‘So he ripped a page out of that and then ran round the furniture with it. Idiot! You’re gonna pay for that. That’s a school book, that is!’

  ‘No I never, you fucking tourist!’ Connor yelled back. ‘I was minding me own beeswax an’ you just belted me one. That’s why I ripped your stupid book!’

  I could see the rage in Tyler’s face. ‘He’s a liar, Casey!’ he yelled, running around the sofa to try to grab his tormentor. But he was too slow, Connor deftly leaping up onto the coffee table and vaulting the sofa in a single bound.

  ‘Right!’ I shouted, using an arm to block Tyler from attempting to hurdle it, too. I used my free hand to grab the remote and switch off the racket blaring from the TV. The resulting silence was deafening. ‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ I said, throwing the remote down on the sofa. ‘In fact, Connor, you can forget your bath. Go to your bedrooms, the pair of you.’

  ‘What?’ Tyler huffed indignantly. ‘What did I do?’

  ‘To your rooms,’ I said again. ‘And get your pyjamas on, please, Connor.’

  ‘Ain’t got none,’ came the answer.

  ‘Yes you have,’ I replied. ‘There’s a pair folded on your bed. Go on. Hoppit!’ I finished. ‘I’ll be up to speak to you both in five minutes.’

  ‘But Casey –’ Tyler began again. ‘I never did anything, I swear!’

  I didn’t doubt that at all, and felt extremely sorry for Tyler. But at that moment I could see no other right way to act. Not till I’d spoken to them individually, at any rate. To focus my recriminations on Connor now would be to play right into his hands. It was a case of one’s word against the other’s, after all, and to accept Tyler’s without question would be unfair. No, we’d go through the motions and I’d make things right with Tyler when I went to speak with him.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ I said, ‘but until I get to the bottom of it, I need you both to go to your rooms. I’ll be up in a minute and we can talk.’

  Tyler stomped out, his cheeks ablaze, and Connor watched him go, before adopting his usual swagger and following suit. But not before delivering what he’d obviously been preparing as his parting shot. Looking me up and down in a way I can only describe as pitying, he turned in the doorway and rolled his eyes. ‘I’m a celebrity,’ he drawled. ‘Get me outta this dump!’

  Tyler had put his own pyjamas on, even though I hadn’t asked him to, and looked the picture of gloom as he sat on the bed, a vision in fleecy black and white stripes.

  ‘I’m so sorry, love,’ I said, joining him on the bed and putting an arm around him. ‘And trust me, Ty,’ I said as he leaned into me, ‘I know it’s not your fault. I just wish you’d have come straight to the kitchen to tell me when he started acting up. That way I could have dealt with him there and then.’

  He sighed heavily, all the huff and puff having gone out of him, thankfully. ‘I didn’t get the chance, Casey,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t think you realise just how bad he is. The things he says. He’s, like, proper filthy. Honest, you’d never think he was eight. Trust me, he uses words even I’ve never heard of! Seriously, Casey. He’s a full-on nightmare, that’s what he is!’

  I supressed a smile at his expression. He seemed right about it, too. ‘I know, sweetie,’ I said. ‘And like I said, I’m sorry. Look, we’ve only another day to go, and as you’ve done nothing wrong, how about you get that Xbox back out and have a play on it now? And maybe come back downstairs once me laddo is in bed? Mike’ll be home in half an hour or so, won’t he? Perhaps you can both watch Match of the Day.’

  He looked happier. ‘Can I now? I’ll be extra, extra quiet. I’ll be – what’s that? You hear that?’

  I had heard something. We both listened again, hard. There was another sound. One that was horribly familiar. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ I said, rising and dashing to the window. I scooped the curtain back.

  ‘Was that what I thought it was?’ Tyler asked, following.

  ‘Yup,’ I confirmed. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’

  Chapter 7

  We’ve had all kinds of kids down the years, and seen pretty much everything. And there are few things more anxiety inducing than a child with a penchant for absconding. Which will be no surprise to any parent – or foster parent, for that matter. There you are, charged with taking care of a young, vulnerable person, so when that person disappears, you’re – in absence of a better word – jiggered.

  Not that Connor was showing any signs of absconding, not at that moment. He was down in the front garden, barefoot, having presumably jumped from his bedroom window; or at least, jumped from halfway down the drainpipe that ran down alongside it, as if a character in an Enid Blyton book.

  It was an effect that was enhanced by the sight of his red pyjamas, which were patterned with blue, green and white teddies. But neither impression was consistent with what was coming out of his mouth – nothing cuddly or Enid Blytonish about that. In fact the only redeeming feature about the string of obscenities he was yelling up at us was that, screaming like a banshee as he was, much of it was incomprehensible.

  ‘Thought you’d lock me up, did you, you fucking lunatics?’ he shouted, vaulting the low front flower bed and then spinning on the ball of one foot out on the pavement. Which meant half the street could now witness him. ‘Well, I escaped, didn’t I? An’ now I’m off to the phone to ring my dad in nick. So just you wait, right?’ He flailed an arm up. ‘Just you wait till I tell him! He’ll slit your fucking throats, all fucking three of you!’ He then bent down and scooped up a handful of gravel from the roadside and proceeded to throw it towards the house, shouting ‘Looo-serrrrs!’ as he did so.

  They say it’s all about the timing, and Mike’s just then was perfect. Just as Connor hot (or cold) footed it off down the street, the beams of our car headlights swept round the corner and over him, causing him to jump like the proverbial rabbit.

  I knew it was our car because it wasn’t quite dark yet. But it soon would be, so I prayed Mike would work out what was happening, get out of the car and stop him getting away.

  ‘Come on,’ I said to Tyler. ‘Grab your slippers or something.’ And as we rattled down the stairs, I remembered Connor’s footwear too, snatching up his trainers before heading out into the street. Yes, it was warm but he was running barefoot down the street and could easily step on a nail or shard of glass.

  Mike hadn’t managed to catch him, either, and I was all too aware that we’d soon be having company. There wasn’t much on telly at that time of the evening, but there was plenty of entertainment outside our house. Well, around our next-door neighbour’s car, to be more accurate, where Mike and Connor were now playing cat and mouse, the latter laughing almost hysterically as he feinted right and left, peppering his jeers with a colourful selection of profanities. Tyler was spot on. Full-on nightmare was right.

  ‘Grab him!’ Mike spluttered as Connor darted in my direction, having narrowly missed being downed by a flying tackle. I tried my best, dropping the trainers in order to wrestle him to the ground, but he was as slippery as an eel, even in the fleece pyjamas, yanking the bottoms up as he stumbled and then sprinting off up the road, firing back a ‘Piss off, you fucking losers!’ as he went.

  Mike was breathing hard. ‘What’s he on?’ he puffed, rubbing his hands to get the dirt off. ‘Look at the state of me!’ he added, looking down at the dust and grit on the knees of his jeans. />
  ‘Look, he’s there!’ Tyler shouted from the doorstep. ‘Up by Mrs Grey’s house! Behind that car! Oop, no he’s not! Casey, he’s heading that way. I just saw him. Over the road. By that blue car up on the left!’

  Mike cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘You come right back here this minute!’ he boomed. Then, lowering his arms, ‘If he’s planning on going, why the hell doesn’t he just go?’ He shook his head again. ‘What’s he on?’

  ‘Attention,’ I said, cringing as I saw old Mrs Grey watching from her window. And presumably having heard much of the language flying about, too. ‘So you know what?’ I said, feeling suddenly inspired. ‘How about we go back inside and pretend to ignore him, same as I did this afternoon?’

  Mike shook his head and smiled, though without a lot of humour. ‘He’s actually just said that to me – well, as good as – before you came out. No, I’d better chase him down, love, while you ring the EDT. Doubt they’ll be able to do much, but we ought to let them know. Right!’ he added, raising his voice again and handing me the car keys. ‘You’ve got ten seconds, lad, or there’s going to be trouble! You hear me?’ he finished, sprinting back off down the road.

  ‘Mike, he’s off again!’ yelled Tyler. ‘Behind the white car! Now the red car! Mike, he’s gone down that alley! Oh, what a shame,’ he finished dryly, as I ran back up the garden path to join him. ‘I think he really is running away.’

  Despite his apparent glee at seeing off his tormentor, Tyler was really keen to get dressed and go and help Mike, but I shook my head. ‘Thanks, but no, love. It’s not your job to be running around after him and even if it was – even if you managed to catch up with him – I’m not sure you’d manage to get him back. No, you keep an eye out for Mike while I phone the EDT. We need them to take charge of this now.’

  Well, would have been, had they answered, which they didn’t seem to want to. I was still hanging on the phone, re-dialling and re-dialling, when Mike returned a quarter of an hour later. He was empty handed.

  I went to hang up, but he stopped me. ‘No, keep trying, love. He’s vanished. I reckon he’s gone over one of the walls and got through the backs somehow. He’s nowhere on the street, and if he’s still in earshot he’s ignoring me. Though Christ knows where he thinks he’s going to go with nothing on his feet and in a pair of flipping pyjamas!’

  ‘To find a phone box,’ I told him, ‘so he can call his father “in the nick”.’

  ‘And get us murdered in our beds,’ added Tyler.

  ‘That so?’ asked Mike. ‘Well, he’ll be looking a while then. I think the last time there was a phone box in this neck of the woods it was about 1993. I –’

  He stopped then, in response to my hand, which I’d flapped, the duty officer having finally answered the phone. I ran through what had happened, then answered the usual questions: a physical description, plus the events that led up to him running off, step by step, from my overhearing his altercation with Tyler in the living room, to the actions I’d taken, to his climbing out of the window. I was then told, as I’d known I would be, that I must next call the police and go through the whole process once again.

  It was a futile business, I always thought, the system we had in place; to have to go through such a rigmarole when in reality they couldn’t do anything – well, apart from telling you to phone the police. But it was protocol, and protocol was king, so I had no choice.

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ Tyler asked me, as I dialled the local station.

  ‘Trouble?’ I asked him. ‘Why would you be in trouble?’

  He looked anxious. ‘Well, I was there, wasn’t I? It was me he was rowing with. What if he doesn’t come back? What then?’

  ‘Ty, mate,’ Mike said, putting an arm around his shoulder. ‘You are not in any trouble. Not the tiniest bit of trouble.’

  ‘But I called him things,’ he said, as I began explaining what had happened to a police officer. ‘I told him I’d punch his lights out. That’s, like, assault, isn’t it?’

  Mike put his mouth to Tyler’s ear and whispered something I couldn’t catch. But could guess at. And at least it put a smile on Tyler’s face.

  Needless to say, there wasn’t much the police could really say to me, because at this point there was little they could do. Except mount a manhunt, which given he’d been ‘missing’ precisely 20 minutes, felt unlikely. Though, given Connor’s age and the background I’d sketched out for them, they at least promised that, assuming he didn’t turn up in the next half hour, they’d send someone out to get some more information.

  ‘So that’s it?’ Tyler wanted to know. ‘No one’s going to look for him? He can, like, just disappear?’

  ‘Well, not disappear, exactly,’ I told him. ‘Given how far he is from home, that would be fairly difficult. I mean, where would he go? He has no friends here, no shoes and no money. I suppose he could find a phone box and make a reverse charge call, but even if he has the number of the prison memorized, he’s not silly enough not to know what would happen next. They’d tell him to go home, wouldn’t they? Tell the police.’

  ‘Trace the call, even?’ Tyler asked.

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Mike. ‘You know, perhaps I’ll jump back in the car, have a drive around. See if I can spot him. He’s going to be difficult to miss in those pyjamas, after all.’

  ‘Can I come with you, Mike? Please?’ Tyler asked him. ‘Two sets of eyes are better than one, after all.’

  ‘I don’t know, mate. It’s not your problem …’

  ‘Please, Mike.’ He turned to me. ‘Please, Casey? I know he hates me, but you never know. I might be able to talk him down, mightn’t I?’

  ‘Talk him down?’ said Mike. ‘Blimey, I hope it’s not going to come to that, mate! Go on, then,’ he said. ‘Go and dress again, while I grab the torch.’

  ‘Yess!’ Tyler said, doing one of his trademark fist pumps.

  ‘Hates you?’ I went to ask him. ‘Where on earth did you get that from?’ but he’d already thundered up the stairs.

  Chapter 8

  Eight o’clock came and went and, alone in the house, I re-donned my Marigolds and set to work with a vengeance. There wasn’t much that needed cleaning – almost nothing, in fact – but it filled the time I’d have otherwise spent pacing up and down, fretting about something I could do absolutely nothing about anyway.

  We’d been here before. A few years earlier we’d had a serial absconder; another lad with a grim start of indifference and neglect behind him. And I thought of that phrase again: ‘five minutes’ peace’. It was one that had a lot to commend it, but at the same time it had a lot of uncomfortable connotations; was it a craving for five minutes’ peace that led Connor’s mother to give up on him the way she had?

  I was also concerned about Tyler. He clearly felt responsible for Connor running off, and I prayed that it would be him who would spot him and return him. At the very least I needed to make clear to him that Connor behaving as he’d done was absolutely not his fault.

  As for fault itself, as a concept, where it concerned a child like Connor, where did you start in apportioning blame? And where did it end, more to the point? What would happen to him next? Another children’s home? Then another? Till the heart was completely ripped from him? Assuming that hadn’t already happened long before.

  In the short term, the ‘crisis’ (as it would be described in my log when I wrote it up later) came to an end just over an hour later. The promised officer had arrived and had just left with all the particulars, when the doorbell rang again, several times in quick succession. I thought it might be Mike and Tyler, in too much of a rush to use either of their keys, but I opened the door to reveal a man from the end of the road – one whom we had up to now been only on waving terms with – clutching an irritable-looking Connor by the pyjama collar.

  ‘Oh thank goodness!’ I said in relief as I knelt down in the hall and did that thing that mums do, as though checking for broken bones. I held Connor’s arms out and scrutiniz
ed him and then looked up to our knight in shining armour. ‘Thank you so much for bringing him back,’ I said, as I relinquished my hold on Connor. ‘Where did you find him?’

  The man grinned and held his hand out to shake. ‘You must be Casey, then. I’m Nev. Nev Thompson. From number 42.’ He grinned again, and ruffled Connor’s hair. In the short time of their acquaintance, our little escapologist had obviously managed to charm him. ‘In my shed,’ he finished. ‘Hunkering down with all the mice and spiders.’

  I decided I’d better attempt to give our neighbour some kind of explanation. ‘My husband Mike and I are foster carers,’ I said. ‘He’s out with my foster son looking for this young man as we speak. Connor here is staying for the weekend. There was a bit of an altercation between the boys, and … well, as you can see …’

  Nev held his hand up. ‘No worries. I know how it goes. I’ll leave you all to it.’ He then patted Connor’s shoulder. ‘And perhaps you can have a chat with Mum … erm … this lovely lady, and tell her what you know about the bones under the floorboards, lad, eh?’ He then winked at me. ‘Save calling the police out unnecessarily …’

  ‘Bones, Connor?’ I said, confused. ‘Bones under the floorboards?’

  ‘Hundreds of them apparently,’ Mr Thompson confirmed. He was clearly enjoying this. ‘Of all the foster kids who’ve apparently been starved to death and then buried under the floor. And as I said to young Connor here, you might be keen to hear about them. Only you’ve not lived here that long, have you?’

  ‘Erm, no we haven’t,’ I confirmed, looking pointedly at Connor, who, if it had been humanly possible, I think would have screwed his head right down into his pyjama top. As it wasn’t, he had no choice but to face it out.

  ‘Bodies?’ I asked again.

  But it seemed Connor had nothing to add at this point, so I thanked Mr Thompson. ‘And we’ll be sure to investigate the starving foster-child situation,’ I added, trying not to grin.