by Casey Watson
I didn’t need to think hard to know there were two ways this could go. It could either be extremely easy, or the complete opposite – and how it played out would be largely up to Mike and me. We could take Danny at his word – feed Keeley, clothe her, provide bed and board and a reasonable amount of boundaries for her – and, all the while, without paying too close attention to whatever else her life consisted of, including her charming little phone-sex business. After all, that was all we were being asked to do.
Or, to use Mike’s words, I could instead ‘do a Casey’ – try my level best to help change her mind about rejecting the system, and the attendant depressing outlook that might lead to. To do what I could to stop her becoming another component that made up those same statistics – the ones that proved a childhood in the care system meant a life of, at best, chronic under-achievement, unemployment (without GCSEs she had little to offer an employer) and, at worst, a life of criminality, drugs or worse; one destined to follow the path set by her mother, and so ensuring that the cycle continued.
A path which could so easily start from a bedroom in some grotty flat and a mobile phone. With no Casey snooping outside to curtail her paying hobby, what was to stop her, after all? As she unpacked her possessions upstairs, oblivious, I made my choice. Whether she liked it or not (and if Danny was right, she definitely wouldn’t like it) I decided I was going to do a Casey.
Keeley didn’t need calling down in the end. She appeared in the dining room half an hour or so into the meeting, red in the face from her unpacking exertions, and, having first visited the kitchen, holding a glass of water. I pulled out the chair between Danny and me. ‘We’ve pretty much done all the boring stuff now,’ he told her. ‘Just need to hear your thoughts now, about staying here – if you have any? Is there anything you need to ask me while I’m here, Keels?’
Keeley glanced around the table. ‘So I am going to be staying here, then, am I? I mean, that’s fine by me,’ she said, gracing me with a smile. ‘Anywhere so long as I don’t have to go back there. And it’s only till I’m sixteen, anyways, so it’s all good,’ she finished.
I resisted the urge to pitch in with ‘you’re welcome’, and catching my eye – and perhaps my thought process – Danny grinned.
‘Don’t worry, we hear you loud and clear, Keels,’ he said. ‘And yes, Casey has very kindly agreed that you can stay here for a while. But like anywhere,’ he went on, leaning forward for emphasis, ‘the Watsons have rules, and I expect you to heed them, okay? If you’re expecting me to go out on a limb and sort you out some accommodation for after your birthday, then you have to do your bit, too, okay? Following the rules, as I’ve told you before, is a normal part of life. We all have to do it and you’re no exception.’
It was obviously a conversation they’d had several times before. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ Keeley replied, nodding, ‘I get it. I have to behave myself. And I have been.’
Danny’s gaze became stern, which put years on him. Which was good. ‘Well, from what I hear,’ he went on, ‘you don’t quite “get it”, Keeley. Last time I checked, having phone sex, or whatever it is you call it, isn’t playing by the rule book. And you know that.’ His face grew sterner still and Keeley shrank a little in her seat, pulling a face like a resentful ten-year-old. ‘Keeley, how can I tell anyone – let alone put it down on paper, in all conscience – that you are shaping up to being a responsible adult when you do things like this? What were you thinking?’
The resentful ten-year-old changed into an angry teenager again. ‘God,’ Keeley snapped, clearly reverting to knee-jerk hostility now she’d been skewered. ‘I’ve already had a bollocking for that, haven’t I? And I’ve got the coppers coming round to have a go at me. Can’t you just leave it now?’ she finished.
Danny shook his head. ‘No, I can’t. Not until I’m quite sure you understand how not on all that sort of thing is. It’s simply not something a fifteen-year-old should be doing. You could be speaking to anyone, and you know it.’
Keeley huffed, crossed her arms across her chest, then changed her mind, and held her hands up in appeasement. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘Okay. I get it. Naughty Keeley. My bad. I won’t do it again. I swear down. Now, can I go finish my room?’
‘You promise me?’ Danny said. ‘A lot depends on this, Keeley.’
‘Honestly. I promise you,’ she said, smiling once again sweetly.
She got up again, then, her part in proceedings apparently over, and managed to leave us without too much of a flounce.
Danny glanced at John and me in turn as he sorted out the various forms we’d need to sign. ‘Hmm. I wouldn’t bank on it,’ he said.
Chapter 7
‘I won’t do it again.’ ‘I’m almost sixteen.’ ‘You don’t need to flap.’ Over and over.
For the next couple of weeks, as Keeley began to settle in, it was as if those three statements were on a continuous repeating loop. And if I was certain of anything – I was still feeling my way with her, after all – it was that only one of those statements was true.
I’d been fairly certain about the first one the very same day that I’d been introduced to Danny. And not just because of his weary-sounding warning, key though that was, because he obviously knew his young charge well. No, it became more obvious once he’d left and, the promised half-hour later, the policemen had turned up to deliver Keeley her lecture.
I had initially been optimistic that their visit would not be in vain. One in uniform, and both old enough to look appropriately paternal, one was a standard community support officer, the other the oddly named ‘safer care’ officer John had mentioned, whose job it apparently was to raise consciousness among teens about the growing problem of online grooming and abuse.
‘We go into schools, too,’ he was explaining, once I’d shown them into the living room. ‘Kind of dial a doom merchant, if you like. But if these kids had even half an idea of the sort of things we’re seeing …’ He trailed off then, shaking his head.
Keeley had come back down to meet them with a polite enough smile, but it didn’t quite manage to camouflage (at least for me) the resigned air of someone all too aware that what they had to do was simply go through the motions. She was used to all this, and she played it like a pro, particularly when they showed her a film of a girl being groomed (they’d brought their own laptop for the purpose), opening her greeny-brown eyes ever wider, acting the proverbial shocked innocent, and generally giving the impression that she was woefully impressionable herself.
She even – dare I say it – seemed to enjoy it. Well, if ‘enjoying’ it is strictly the right word. And, perhaps surprisingly, I did too. Though, like the police officers, I’d been doing my job long enough to know more than I wanted to about such matters, it was fascinating to see it spelled out so clearly how the process took place – not least the amount of time and effort these evil characters put into it.
The film was made in documentary style, featuring a young girl of thirteen, played by an actress. It spelled out the various grooming stages. The girl believed for weeks that she was chatting to a boy of around her own age who lived locally – and why wouldn’t she? His Facebook page looked entirely genuine. They chatted online for several weeks, the relationship slowly developing, and, again, nothing about what the girl (or indeed I) was seeing from his posts and messages would ring alarm bells in any way.
And, as often happens within the other-worldly world of online conversations, as their relationship became closer, so did their conversations, and, driven by the usual hormones, became increasingly sexual too.
And as night apparently follows day in our new permissive, sexualised, highly connected world, she agreed to send him some video clips – of the sort of thing Keeley had been describing on the phone.
The very next day, she was then mortified to discover that the images and clips had been shared right across social media.
‘And not just her social media,’ the officer pointed out grimly. ‘This was no inno
cent boy. Those videos would have been shared by all sorts, you get me?’
Keeley nodded meekly, and then again, as the narrator went on to explain that this was based on a real case, and that the girl had been so traumatised that she’d become clinically depressed, and was unable to return to school; in the end the family had decided they had no choice but to up sticks and relocate to a different part of the country.
All very serious, but I could tick off the ways in which it wouldn’t be of much help. Keeley had no family to become traumatised for her. Keeley didn’t care a jot about school. Keeley was savvy. Keeley was street-smart and blooded. Keeley was nothing like this girl.
Still, she accepted the leaflet the officers gave her, and I knew they left feeling they’d achieved something good. And perhaps they had. Perhaps something useful had sunk in. Perhaps Keeley wasn’t quite as hardened as she claimed to be.
But once they’d gone any hope of that was dispatched in short order.
‘That’s the thing,’ she mused, flicking through the leaflet as I washed up the officers’ mugs.
‘What’s the thing?’ I asked.
‘I mean, it’s all very helpful and that,’ she said. ‘You know, educating girls about this sort of stuff. But, like, do they really think I’m that naïve? That’s the point. I’m not stupid. I’m in control, aren’t I? Because I already know the sort of men I’m dealing with, don’t I?’
I gaped.
‘Sorry, did,’ she corrected quickly. ‘Cross my heart, Casey.’ She did so. ‘I won’t do it again.’
And it seemed, over the ensuing days, that she was at least being as good as her word. Well, as far as I could tell, and I was checking on her often. If I was going to commit to doing what I could for her, a few minor intrusions on her privacy were, as far as I was concerned, a justifiable means to an end.
But it soon became clear that what went on inside the house was the least of our worries. Actually keeping her in it was much more of a concern.
I knew Danny had spelled out that the education door was pretty much locked now, but I came back to it again and again. Not with Keeley herself – she’d made it amply clear there was no conversation to be had there – but in my head, because not going to school was one thing, but not doing anything at all was insane, especially for a bright girl like her.
One of my mum’s favourite sayings when I was growing up was that the devil finds work for idle hands to do. And she was right, of course, as life had shown me again and again. A human without purpose isn’t generally in the best place, but a child without purpose is a whole other animal – too much time on their hands and it’s so often the case that they get into all kinds of mischief.
Not that I knew what sort of things Keeley got up to. Only that she was out of the house, day and evening, from the very next day on – as if the weekend (the upheavals, the lectures and meetings) had merely been an interruption in her busy schedule.
A schedule that, amazingly, appeared to be carrying on regardless despite her being some twenty-five miles from her usual stomping ground, far away on the other side of town. I wondered again at the foster home she’d come from, and the freedoms she seemed to take so much for granted. Had she been given no boundaries at all?
‘I’m a naturally friendly person,’ was Keeley’s answer the first time I asked her where she was off to, and with whom. ‘I like to get out and about and meet new people and stuff. My old mates come over as well. They get the train,’ she added helpfully. ‘So I meet them in town and we just hang about.’
‘They’re not in school either?’ I asked. It seemed a reasonable enough question. Either they didn’t attend, like her, which wasn’t the best scenario ever, or they were a good bit older, which wasn’t very edifying either – not when coupled with the words ‘hanging about’.
Though least edifying was the whole ‘hanging about in town’ scenario, period. ‘Doing what?’ I asked. ‘What do you find to do exactly?’
She gave me what my mum would have called an old-fashioned look. ‘We don’t sit around doing drugs, Casey, if that’s what you’re thinking. Anyway, I’m almost sixteen, so you really don’t need to flap about it.’
So that was me told. As if being ‘nearly sixteen’ was akin to being ‘nearly twenty-five’. Which it wasn’t, so it didn’t stop me flapping in the slightest. For what it was worth, I believed her on the ‘not doing drugs’ front – she seemed altogether too self-possessed. And, as sometimes happened (praise be) with the children of addicts, perhaps she was still haunted by the loss of her mother to heroin, and avoided all drugs as a consequence.
But there was no getting away from the fact that she would be offered drugs, because they were everywhere. No way was I going to be naïve about the likelihood that some of her friends did do drugs, and might also be involved in petty crime. How long before her assurances would begin to ring hollow? When a truanting kid who was just ‘hanging out’ became another drop-out, another chronic social ill.
No, if I wanted to help Keeley, I needed to try and get her off the streets, and despite Danny’s apparent resistance to the idea, by mid-week, with her out, and Tyler in school, I was in full-on bothersome mode, bothering John, bothering ELAC (Education for Looked After Children) for more information on her school history, and most of all bothering Danny himself – to get them to revisit the idea that, even if she wasn’t going back to school, she should be persuaded of the merits of doing something.
‘The problem,’ Danny said, having returned my most recent call, ‘is that we are pretty much out of options. Keeley’s done with school, as you know, and we’ve been here before. Twice now, I’ve got her back into mainstream education, and both times she really put her heart and soul into it – as in making sure she got excluded without delay.’
‘I do get that,’ I said. ‘And I have read the file, so I’m not suggesting I try and get her enrolled in Tyler’s or anything. But it doesn’t have to be a school, does it? Not a mainstream one, anyway. Ours has a thing called a “Reach for Success” programme – John might have mentioned it? I used to work there and I helped set it up. She could attend there – I’ve already checked with them – even if only part time.’
I could hear Danny’s sigh. ‘We’ve been there as well. She’s been to various alternative learning units during the time I’ve been with her – you’ll see it all when you get her personal education plan – some with the luxury of just four or five pupils. And she still doesn’t cooperate. Threats of permanent exclusion are exactly what she wants. And the more that’s happened the less anyone else has wanted to take her. You know how it goes.’
I came back again to this foster family who had apparently decided that Keeley’s lack of education was no biggie. How did that work? Had they just run out of energy to argue the point with her? Had they too been sold the whole ‘I’m offskies’ line? Even if they hadn’t before, I thought darkly, they most definitely had now. Was that what she’d been hoping for all along?
And what about her little sister? Was she in school? I imagined so. ‘But, Danny, don’t the council have a duty to ensure she’s educated?’ I persisted. I’d been out of the world of school for a while, and it hadn’t come up in my fostering, but I couldn’t believe that wasn’t so.
But it apparently wasn’t. ‘They have a duty to offer her college-style or employment training,’ Danny said. ‘But if she chooses not to do it – if she’s determined to go off and find herself a job – then, in practice, there is little they can do at this stage. Not given her age. Were her birthday later in the school year it might be different. Or if she was sitting exams, of course. But would it really? In practice? I’m not sure. No, her old school have pretty much washed their hands of her now, and she’s resistant to any suggestions about college. She just wants to get to sixteen, get herself a flat and a job.’
‘Another job, you mean,’ I said. ‘She’s already got one.’
‘Oh, God. She’s not still at that in the house, is she?’
‘I have no idea, Danny – how would I? She could be at it half the night. And what she gets up to when she’s not at home I have absolutely no idea.’
Another sigh. ‘It’s not the best situation, is it?’ he conceded.
‘You’re telling me,’ I said. ‘What about the sister, Jade? Maybe she could have some influence? Keeley tells me they’re close. How are things with her? I assume she’s going to school okay.’
‘As far as I know, yes. She’s in mainstream education and doing really well by all accounts. As was Keeley at one time. I promise you. I’ve gone back and read everything on her file. As you’ll be able to do yourself when you get it all in the post.’
‘That’s a good point,’ I pointed out. ‘When’s it all coming anyway? I could really do with a fuller picture of her background.’
‘Okay, I’ll chase it,’ he said, as if I’d been nagging him for days. He sounded defensive and I realised I wasn’t sure what he was even promising. That Keeley had been doing well? Or that he’d done his research? Perhaps he too was weary of trying to influence Keeley. Till she wasn’t doing well, I mused to myself. ‘Thank you,’ I said out loud. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘Seriously,’ he said, back in his groove, ‘we have tried. And over quite a long period. She started going downhill around the start of year nine. Foster parents in and out. Detentions. The usual thing. Just a downward trajectory. Increasing non-attendance. Lack of motivation. She wasn’t in a good place, was she? Perhaps it had all begun to really hit home for her. You know how it sometimes goes.’
But didn’t need to go, surely? It took a lot of effort from all parties to produce such a dispiriting fait accompli. It seemed criminal that a bright kid like Keeley should be languishing outside education, and even more so that the school seemed to have turned a blind eye for so long. But the trouble was that I could completely understand it. I had seen it. So I knew all too well how hard it was to engage an older child who fought tooth and nail against the system. Even if Keeley hadn’t been especially disruptive, just having a child in class who truanted regularly and had fallen way behind everyone else could impact seriously on all the others – the ones who did want to do well – taking up a massive chunk of their teachers’ time and attention just by virtue of being there. No, it was no wonder that teachers sometimes took the view that losing one for the greater good was the better way. Not so much a blind eye as a conscious decision.