by Casey Watson
He nodded, but still looked anxious. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But will you be home again tonight?’
‘I don’t know, love,’ I told him truthfully. ‘Babies can sometimes take their time coming. But you’ll be fine. Lauren will be sleeping over too, don’t forget. And she and Kieron will make your tea and breakfast and everything. And I’ll call you, I promise. Right before your bedtime. So I can keep you up to date how everything is going.’
He nodded again, and I could see he was looking a bit less fretful. He’d be fine, I knew, with Kieron and Lauren. I’d already written down everything they needed to know, after all. What food to make, what all the timings were and so on. Though, happily, it was going to be Sunday tomorrow so all the instructions about school I could now cross off the list.
‘Mum!’ Kieron said, now rattling down the stairs behind Mike. ‘Make sure you call me. Every hour, okay? I don’t care how late it gets, just make sure you do. I won’t be able to sleep unless I know Riley’s okay.’
I reassured him I would, feeling a great surge of maternal love. It was so moving to see how much my children cared about each other. And then another thought struck me, about my first foster-son, too. He was about to be a part of one of the biggest events of our lives. If anything would bind him to us, that would. I kissed both him and Kieron and promised them both that we’d call, and then the two of us shot out of the door.
We arrived at the maternity hospital just as Riley was being linked up to a monitor. She’d actually been well into her labour when she’d arrived there and was already having contractions every minute.
But it was a first baby and I knew that contractions every minute didn’t necessarily mean the baby was coming any time soon. So while poor Mike paced the waiting room for a long lonely three hours, I did my best birth-partner-mum bit, alongside an anxious David, mopping Riley’s brow, passing her the gas and air mouthpiece and telling her how brilliantly she was doing.
Anyone who has ever witnessed a birth would I’m sure agree with me when I say that, watching the birth of my first grandson, at 11.15 p.m. on that late November Saturday, was thrilling and moving beyond words. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cried so much. I was so proud of Riley that I couldn’t contain it, and to hold that little scrap of new life in my arms made me cry even more. It’s a wonder I didn’t completely soak him.
Mike was in with us moments later, the business end having been sorted and, of course, he and David started crying as well. In fact I don’t think I’d ever seen Mike cry quite that hard. Within seconds he was sobbing his heart out.
It took a full five minutes for him to regain some composure, and when he did, presumably feeling a bit abashed by his tearful display, he leaned close to Riley’s left ear and he spoke. ‘You know, love,’ he said, ‘he is gorgeous. He really is. But don’t you think his ears are a bit like Uncle Glynn’s?’
Riley, being Riley, was not having that. She gave him a spirited left hook and then delivered her verbal counter-blow. ‘Yeah, right, Dad,’ she said, grinning. ‘And I can cope with it, just as long as he isn’t landed with your nose!’
Which had me filling up again, of course, and reaching for the tissues. I slipped out then, and, as promised, I phoned home.
They say everything happens for a reason, and perhaps the birth of baby Levi had been a great feat of timing, because, as with any family upheaval, such as the birth of a new baby, the first couple of weeks went by in a kind of blur. With Riley and I being so close, we spent a lot of time together and, while on the surface I was bustling about, helping her to manage, inside I knew my daughter was actually managing magnificently on her own; she seemed such a natural at this whole motherhood lark. It would be a couple of years before I fully realized how much of a natural, but in the meantime I was happy enough to take a zillion photos and bask in a warm flush of grandmotherly pride.
And most importantly, from the point of view of Justin’s own upheaval, it perhaps meant I was a little less intensely anxious as well, having another little boy to distract me. Which could only be a good thing, from all our points of view, as it made the transition just that little bit less stressful.
As did finally meeting his new family. Levi was two weeks old when we I finally got to meet the Hansons, who turned out to be absolutely lovely. By now we were dropping Justin round to them ourselves – it seemed crazy for Harrison Green to have to keep doing it, and, besides, it was our hope, even if the Hansons didn’t yet know it, that Justin would find it easy to pop round and visit once he had transferred to live with them full time.
This made sense, of course, from the point of view of his emotional stability, and though we’d never thought to ask it did occur to both of us that the location of the placement, which was close to us geographically, might have been a factor in the decision-making process. And not only for reasons of him being able to keep in touch with us. It also meant he wouldn’t have to move to yet another school – a harrowing enough experience for any child of his age, let alone one with his array of problems.
It was important, therefore, that the four of us got along, and they’d invited us to pop in and join them for coffee that afternoon, when we dropped Justin off for a sleepover.
‘Isn’t it awful,’ I told Mike, over a take-away curry later on that evening. It felt weird. With Justin at the Hansons overnight, and Kieron having gone off out somewhere with Lauren, it was our first night alone and commitment-free in what felt like ages. Just the two of us and a blow-out meal in front of the TV. ‘And I feel ashamed to admit it,’ I admitted, ‘so don’t tell. But I think I was secretly looking for reasons not to like them.’ I spread my palms. ‘Isn’t that mad?’
Mike grinned. ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to be any different,’ he said.
‘Hey!’
‘I mean, is there any hope they’ll ever be good enough for him, after us? After you?’
‘Mike, that’s a terrible thing to say! Don’t take the mick!’
‘Only kidding,’ he said. ‘But you forget – I know how your mind works, love. And I’m not being sarcastic. I know this is hard. When you put so much into something – or someone, in this case – of course you want it to be special. You want him to feel you’re special. That he’s going to miss you. Not have him stroll off with the Hansons without so much as a backward glance.’
‘That’s the truth of it, I guess,’ I admitted. ‘You’re spot on. But they seemed lovely, didn’t they? I think he’ll be happy there, don’t you? And you know why? Because they really seemed genuinely fond of him, too. Not just professionally caring – not just being carers by numbers – I got a real sense that they were so down to earth and loving. Like they really wanted to make a difference to his life.’
Mike slipped his arm around me and pulled me in for a hug, perhaps sensing that beneath my positive exterior there was still a part of me that just wasn’t quite ready to let him go.
‘You’ll still be a hard act to follow, love,’ he whispered, bless him.
It had been strange, having Levi come into our lives just as Justin was preparing to leave it, and I wasn’t sure, in the first days, with all the comings and goings, if all the attention now focussed on the baby would make the parting easier or harder for Justin. On the one hand there was the whole new topic of conversation, my repeated comings and goings back and forth to Riley and David’s place and the way the family routine had so changed, and on the other there was the to-ing and fro-ing Justin was doing too, as ‘home’ became something of a moveable feast – as his visits to his new home increased in frequency and his time at his current home lessened.
Levi must have been not much more than three or four weeks’ old, though, when I realized the concept of home, in this instance, really didn’t have to mean bricks and mortar. Yes, it was obviously crucial that Justin settle well in with his new family, but I still fretted constantly that in our encouragement to that end, he didn’t feel he was being pushed out of ours.
But I
needn’t have worried. He’d come home from school for tea one day – though he’d be going home to the Hansons straight after – when Riley arrived at the house with Levi.
She was looking tired, but also happy, and was still coping well, taking everything that came her way in her stride.
‘Hey, Justin!’ she said, when she arrived to find him home. ‘How nice to see you – and perfect timing, too! D’you want to give Levi his bottle for me, so I can put my feet up for ten minutes and have a bit of a natter with Mum?’
Justin blinked at her, obviously still digesting what she’d said, and seeing the attendant expression on his face was priceless. It was also a reminder of how far we’d come, for it was a look, if slightly nervous, of stunned delight.
‘Come on,’ Riley coaxed. ‘Come and sit yourself down on this chair’ – she pulled one out from under the kitchen table for him – ‘and get yourself comfy while I heat up his bottle.’
Justin did as instructed and, while Riley warmed the bottle, I took Levi from his pram and placed him very carefully in Justin’s arms. Happily, Levi seemed just as happy to be in Justin’s as anyone’s and, once the bottle was warm and Riley had shown Justin how to angle it, he sucked away happily, a dreamy, far-away look on his face.
But it was Justin’s face – though neither Riley nor I would ever have considered mentioning it – that mesmerised the two of us the most. He was sitting there, as gentle as any loving brother could be, and feeding Levi with tears in his eyes.
I shed a lot of tears myself over those next couple of weeks.
I’d always known that fostering would be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, and that upheavals such as this one were all a part of the package, but I was still shocked, as was Mike, by how much like a bereavement it felt to be losing him.
But, little by little, it was happening – he was distancing himself, and though I knew intellectually that this was what he had to do, to cope, I still felt the rejection very keenly.
John Fulshaw tried hard to counsel me about it, and to reassure me, but I still couldn’t help reliving all the stages we’d been through and wondering what we – what I – could have done differently. I suppose what I really wanted was the thing I couldn’t have: I wanted him to show me just how much he missed me – would continue to miss me – which was precisely the thing he couldn’t allow himself to do.
He was also, and John felt he had to keep stressing this to me, a profoundly damaged child who’d suffered a great deal of rejection and who, John explained, would now be unable to form anything but superficial relationships with another human being.
‘But I’m different!’ I wanted to yell at him, though I didn’t. Was I really? Probably not, but that didn’t help me keeping a kernel of hope alive that for Justin I might be – we all might be. If not right now, then maybe one day.
‘You have to harden yourself up somewhat,’ he stressed, and kept on stressing, over a coffee in my kitchen, in mid-December. ‘Because all placement endings are going to feel a bit like this, Casey. That’s the nature of the work. That’s how it’s always going to be.’
I looked out of the kitchen window and the coral-tinted sky, which, to my mind, looked heavy with snow. Or at least seemed to. None was forecast, so perhaps it was just me. I did a lot of wishful thinking about snow at this time of year. It was almost Christmas and, once again, I was going overboard. Perhaps, I thought, looking at the front-garden fairy lights twinkling (even though it wasn’t even quite dark yet, I’d put them on), I was going even more overboard than usual. Not only because we had a baby’s first Christmas to get excited about, but also to fill the big hole Justin had left.
And I knew I must make the effort to recharge my batteries, because as John left he told me it was an order. ‘You and Mike will have two weeks to relax,’ he explained. ‘And then you’ll be offered your next child.’
I waved him off, feeling the biting December cold swirl around my legs, and watched as he unlocked and climbed into his car.
Just before he left, he rolled down the driver’s window. ‘Expect fireworks in January,’ he said …
Epilogue
So just how has Justin progressed since leaving my family? Well, his new placement lasted two years before, sadly, breaking down. As John had warned, it turned out he felt unable to bond with them, and after a couple of years he started talking all the time about being moved back into a children’s home. He eventually left the Hansons and transferred to one, where he remains, detached but settled, to this day. He’s currently working as a gardener.
Though it’s probably true that Justin will never fully engage with society as an adult, he is still very much a part of our family, and comes to see Mike and I every week. As for Riley, she and David have three children now, Levi, Jackson and Marley Mae. Justin still spends every Christmas Day with the whole family, at Riley and David’s house, and loves the kids as much as they adore him, always calling him their ‘Uncle Justin’.
Kieron and Lauren are still together, which has made us all so happy, and are expecting their first baby this year. Justin’s excited about that too and only recently confessed that he keeps a scan photo of the baby in his wallet.
As for Justin, well, he’s seventeen now and, I’m happy to report, still maintains contact with his birth family. He sees his mother and brothers twice yearly and has seemed to have sort of accepted the fact that they’ll never be a ‘proper’ family, really. He still gets yearnings for his mum sometimes but what he tends to do is to call me and we talk them through together. As for Gemma, well, that’s a rather lovely footnote to it all – now she’s old enough, they talk all the time on the phone.
In general, for all of us, it’s quite simple. To Justin, we’re just Mike and Casey and we will always be there for him, as will Riley and David, Kieron and Lauren – the whole clan. But if you want to sum things up, perhaps the best way is to say that he refers to Kieron and Riley as his step-brother and step-sister. Which, for me and Mike at least, says it all.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all of the team at HarperCollins, the lovely Andrew Lownie, and my friend and mentor, Lynne.
Copyright
This book is a work of non-fiction based on the author’s experiences. In order to protect privacy, names, identifying characteristics, dialogue and details have been changed or reconstructed.
HarperElement
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THE BOY NO ONE LOVED. © Casey Watson 2011. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Casey Watson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-0-00-743656-9
EPub Edition © AUGUST 2011 ISBN: 978-0-00-743657-6
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