Nowhere to Go (21 page)

I just had time to call Riley before Tyler was due home and to tick her off for conniving with her grandmother.

‘Hardly conniving,’ she corrected. ‘Just making astute observations. Aww, I wish I’d had money on it now.’

‘You cheeky mare,’ I said. ‘Anyway, as recompense, I need a favour. I need to speak to your father about a certain young man and I obviously need the young man not to be around.’

‘Bring him round to ours for tea,’ she offered immediately. ‘Oh and you might want to dig a tin hat out from somewhere. I’ve a feeling Dad might not be so gung ho as you are, so you might have some brickbats to dodge.’

‘Oh don’t say that, love. He loves Tyler, I know he does,’ I felt duty bound to point out.

‘I’m only kidding you,’ she reassured me. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re right, so you never know, do you? Well, if you pitch it right, that is.’

I laughed. ‘Have you heard of Babe Ruth, daughter dear?’

‘Nope,’ she replied.

‘Then go and Google it,’ I laughed, hanging up.

‘Good God in heaven, Casey!’ Mike exclaimed as he took in the scene in front of him. ‘What on earth have you done?’

He cast his eyes around then, past the steaks nestling on their bed of courgettes and peppers, past the mushroom and blue cheese topping, past the sides of sweetcorn and onion rings, and even past the fat, triple-cooked chips.

He looked up, down and all around, in fact, as if to find evidence of disaster, before returning his steady gaze to me.

‘You old cynic,’ I ticked him off, pouring him a glass of red wine. ‘Can’t I spoil you without you immediately jumping to the conclusion that I have some sort of scurrilous ulterior motive?’

‘Nope,’ he said, picking up a chip and popping it in his mouth.

‘Well, I haven’t,’ I said. ‘I just thought that since Tyler’s out to tea, you and I could enjoy a little “us” time.’

And as soon as I said it, I could have kicked myself. Hardly the best time to bring the notion of ‘us’ time into the equation, after all – not when I was about to crush all hopes of ‘us’ time for the foreseeable future.

‘Liar,’ he said brightly, pulling out his chair and picking up his cutlery. ‘Casey, trust me, I know you well enough by now. You’ve either been at the credit card for some unnecessary purchase, or you’ve booked some extravagant holiday, or you’re about to ask me something that you think I’ll say no to. Now spill, woman. It’s going to be one of them, after all, and you might as well spit it out and tell me which.’

‘Honestly,’ I huffed, joining him and trying to think where to start. In my experience, it was best to prepare the ground a little first before launching into the main – and, in this case, somewhat contestable – master plan. So I tried to make small talk, working through Riley and the little ones, to what was on television that evening, via the Christmas lights I was still waiting for him to string up outside the house.

Then, halfway through the meal, he sat back and burst out laughing. Just like that. No provocation, no warning, no nothing. Just a great big guffaw of a laugh.

‘What?’ I said. ‘What did I say that was so funny?’

‘It’s not what you said, it’s what you didn’t say that was funny. Oh, Case, I can’t keep it up any longer, love, I really can’t. But, fair play, it was fun while it lasted, watching you work.’

‘Mike!’ I snapped, ‘
Please
. What the hell are you going on about?’

‘I know,’ he said simply. ‘I know all about it. Your dad called me at work earlier, wanted to know if we had any pallets going begging. And was obviously off-message because he told me.’

‘About Tyler?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘Well, the business part, at any rate.’ He laughed again. ‘I could hear your mum ticking him off in the background as well. No steak for him tonight, eh?’

‘And?’ I said, crossing my fingers under the table.

‘And I was wondering – have you run it past John yet?’

I nodded. ‘Theoretically. But
only
theoretically, I promise. I mean, obviously, it’s all down to you, love. I mean, if you’re set against it, then we obviously –’

‘Case,’ he said, ‘I’m not.’

‘Really, Mike? Honestly? It’s a big thing. Extremely big.’

‘
Really
, love.
Honestly
. And you know what’s really funny? As soon as your dad let slip it was as if you had arrived at a solution to a problem I didn’t even know we had. Does that make sense?’

I got up and threw my arms around him. ‘Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God. Honestly, I’ve been on pins, wondering how you’d react. I mean we were supposed to be having a break, and … oh, you are a sod, Mike – you should have phoned me.’

‘You kidding? I might be soft, but I’m not soft in the head, Case.’ He nodded towards his plate. ‘Miss out on this? Now that
would
be soft in the head. I take it there’s something nice for pudding too?’

Things happened very quickly after that. I called John again the next day and told him that Mike was on board and that after sleeping on it we still felt the same way. John insisted we thought longer – this was a very big commitment. We, more than most people, knew the implications for Tyler if we took him on and then later had a change of heart.

But we didn’t need telling that because we did know the implications – had lived though those kinds of implications with other kids ourselves. No, we were sure – the only stumbling block was the interminable red tape involved; we’d be talking about a change in status – changing from short-term to long-term carers, but then again not – which meant jumping through various administrative hoops.

Will, in the meantime, once put in the picture, held fire on the family he’d been speaking to about Tyler who, being foster carers, were used to plans changing with children, and wanted nothing more than for him to be where he’d be happy. And in the midst of it all there was Tyler to whom we told absolutely nothing; Tyler who was busy steeling himself for the inevitable – that he wasn’t going home and that he wasn’t staying with us and that he’d be on the move again in the new year. It was so hard, that part – that not telling him complication. Because I’ve never felt quite so much like I might burst.

We heard about the first part – that we could keep Tyler – another week later. By now we were into December and I was beginning to worry that, with the wheels of bureaucracy being what they were, we might have to agonise till January. But not so.

‘Everyone’s happy for you to keep Tyler long term,’ John announced in what was beginning to seem like an endless stream of phone calls since we’d all sat down to discuss the practical implications of what becoming long-term foster carers involved. ‘Not that it was ever really an issue,’ he added quickly, ‘but it’s finalised now, anyway – so you can go ahead and let Tyler know now, if you want to. I know you’ve been champing at the bit.’

There was still a bit to do about maintaining our short-term status, as it wasn’t usual to be doing both at the same time. But again, John was confident that the panel would approve us, at which point we’d be able to take new kids as well, either to go on the programme, or for respite.

Which mattered, of course, because we wanted to continue, but I’d been surprised by just how pragmatic I felt. If it turned out we couldn’t then so be it, we couldn’t. We’d have Tyler. And that mattered more.

All that remained, then, was to share the news with the boy himself, which we decided to do at home, the whole family together – pressing home the point that this had been a whole family decision. That the whole family wanted him as part of our family and – though I didn’t need to mention this to anyone at any point – that this would in fact be the last ‘family thing’ that was going to be arranged without him. He was family now. It was official. Well, as long as that was what
he
wanted.

When a child is soon to leave you, they tend to detach. The nature of short-term foster care of the kind we’ve always done and still do is to provide a bridge between the bad place and the child’s future happiness; a crucial stop-gap to prepare them for the next part. So the detachment is necessary, and it happens in both obvious and subtle ways. Sometimes it’s instinctive in a child – particularly if they’ve been ‘in the system’ for a while – because it’s a defence mechanism to protect them from the pain of parting. In some extreme cases children don’t attach much at all; they’re too canny, too self-protective. And with others it’s a process involving the adults looking after them – using things like the memory box, to put a timeline into perspective, and often involving a phased introduction (visits and then sleepovers) to the family who are taking the reins.

The next step with Tyler would have been to meet his next foster family, and as far as he knew that was what was going to happen. He didn’t know when, but he wasn’t stupid – Will had told him how things worked – and having made his wishes clear back in October (that he wanted us to be his mum and dad now) he’d retreated to the place he thought it was necessary for him to occupy; one of acceptance that it wasn’t happening, that he was moving on.

And what a lot of water had flowed under that bridge. In the space of seven months Tyler’s life had changed beyond recognition. He’d left the family home that had never really felt like a family, and with time and distance it seemed clear that this was by far the best thing for him – better to be with warm-hearted, committed strangers than in a home where you’re really not wanted. The rapid turn-around in his behaviour seemed to be testament to that. So he’d adapted, reasonably well, only to have his brother reject him too, and to compound that he had to live through his friend’s death.

But there was good news, as well – we had found him his mother, and who knew just how big a thing that would prove to be for him. It could be life changing, even. Better still, now there was no question of them having him back, his ‘parents’ had agreed that there
could
be some sibling contact; something both boys (now that Grant had stood firm
re
his brother) desired and would benefit from.

And now, as far as he knew, it would be Christmas at the Watsons, followed by whatever else life had in mind for him. And I couldn’t wait to tell him what that was.

‘We’re having a party night,’ I told him on the last day of school. I’d come to pick him up, something I didn’t usually do. ‘A big family party, at home,’ I explained. ‘Starting in half an hour. So chop, chop – we’d better get our skates on.’

‘Is it someone’s birthday?’ he wanted to know as he did up his seat belt. ‘Or is it an early one for Christmas? Or, Casey …’ he said, clearly having had another thought, ‘is it the one Will was saying about for my golden-sheet thingy?

‘None of those,’ I said. ‘Your award thing will be happening after Christmas, love. No,’ I lied, ‘this is just what we always do on the last day of term. Get everyone round so we can get into the Christmas spirit. That’s why I had to pick you up,’ I finished, ‘because I didn’t want you dawdling. We still have to get ready, don’t we?’

‘Oh, man,’ he said, doing one of his little fist pumps. ‘A party! This day just keeps getting better and better!’

You want better, you got better
, I thought excitedly, as we drove home. It was almost impossible not to do a fist pump myself.

It was definitely impossible to maintain any sort of composure when we got there, knowing, even as Tyler dumped his bag and hung his coat up, that just on the other side of the living room door were Mike, Riley and David, Mum and Dad, Kieron and Lauren and – being brilliantly distracted from giving themselves away – Levi and Jackson and little Marley Mae.

‘Shall I go up and change?’ Tyler asked me, his eyes shining. ‘Put my best clobber on? Or are there jobs we need to do?’

‘Clobber? Now there’s a word,’ I said. ‘And yes, there is one job. D’you think you could go into the living room for me and, er …’ Nope, all of a sudden I couldn’t seem to think of anything plausible. ‘Go and …’ Where was my brain when I needed it? Nothing. ‘Just go into the living room,’ I settled on, while he looked at me quizzically.

‘Casey, have you gone all loopy?’ he asked me, giggling.

‘You know what?’ I said, opening the door for him. ‘I think I have.’

Perhaps appropriately, the first thing he saw was his teddy – the teddy Will had pulled out all the stops to retrieve for him. It had travelled from the old house along with everything else in that cupboard and it was really only a question of someone making an
effort
to find it. And, finally, Grant had done so and now Billy Bear the First was here.

‘Wha—?’ Tyler said, seemingly oblivious to everyone in there, his eyes going past all the familiar faces that he had expected to see anyway, to the bear, which he obviously hadn’t. The blue bear, which was sitting atop a big blue cake, which was sitting at the centre of a table full of food, which was sitting through the arch, in the dining room. ‘Is that him? Is that Billy Bear?’ he asked me. ‘
Really
?’

‘Indeed it is,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you go and say hello to him? I expect he’s missed you.’

‘An’ there’s cake!’ piped up Jackson. ‘For you!’

‘And it’s not for your birthday,’ added Levi. ‘It’s a
special
cake. And it’s got words on. Writ specially for you.’

‘What’s it say then?’ Tyler asked, as the three boys approached it.

‘It says welc—’ Jackson began.

‘Shh!’ said Riley. ‘Let Tyler read it.’

Tyler read it. I watched him mouth each word, taking it all in.

‘It says “Welcome to your new home!”, Tyler,’ Jackson persisted.

‘He
knows
that,’ his older brother said. ‘He
can read
, you know!’

Tyler turned to us all then, staring as if seeing us properly for the first time. ‘For ever?’ he said, looking at me. ‘For ever till I’m a grown-up?’

I could only nod, because by now I was way too choked up to speak.

‘That’s right, kiddo,’ Mike answered for me. ‘For ever till you’re a grown-up. If you want, son, that is. What do you think?’

Tyler carefully took his bear from the cake and put it close to his ear.