Nowhere to Go (8 page)

‘Well, we still want to speak to the family; at the very least, his father. It’s clear Tyler has a strong bond with his brother, and is keen to have a relationship with his dad. So whatever the situation with the stepmother we have a duty – if appropriate – to foster a resumption of relations there. As to how far that takes us …’ he shrugged. ‘Who knows, Casey? The bottom line is that if they don’t want him back, we can’t push it. Only try to make them appreciate Tyler’s position.’

‘Which is that the poor little sod’s between a rock and a hard place,’ I said.

‘I know,’ John said, ‘I know – ’twas ever thus, eh?’

He was right there. There wasn’t a child that came our way that wasn’t in some awful bind or other. Whether they’d been neglected or abused, beaten or just browbeaten, pushed from pillar to post in care, or within chaotic unhappy families, the one thing that bound them was the thing that always got my goat – that none of it was ever their fault. Yes, you could point the finger towards bad actions, bad behaviours and bad attitudes, and the older a child got, the more inclined society was to do that. But the truth was that almost all of the time there was a common, depressing truth – that they had been let down pretty badly in some way or other, and everything that followed was generally a result of that.

It mattered not a jot to me that these parents – well, parent and step-parent – felt aggrieved to have had to take on that motherless three-year-old. No, perhaps it wasn’t fair, wasn’t part of their plan. But they
had
done so, sealing his fate. Which might have been different. If he’d been fostered as a three-year-old, he might have been adopted instead, mightn’t he? By adoptive parents who would probably have cherished him. Instead, he was more or less orphaned as an 11-year-old, and, crucially, having already formed a bond with what he’d thought was his family. Which made it
so
much worse.

‘God, you said it, John,’ I agreed.

I began the start of the summer holidays determined to keep positive. Nothing was set in stone, and perhaps John was right. Perhaps once he gave some thought to what had happened, Tyler’s father
would
make some sort of effort to try and re-integrate his elder son into his family – even if it was out of guilt rather than parental love. We could only hope. And perhaps Alicia (or the faintly icky ‘Licia’, as he’d called her) would feel shamed into making some sort of effort towards reconciliation, too.

No, it wasn’t likely to be perfect, but what mattered most was that the connection wasn’t broken, because that connection was key to Tyler seeing his brother, and that really mattered. However dysfunctional Tyler’s family set-up, his relationship with his brother was something pure and good and must not under any circumstances be allowed to flounder. I felt that as strongly as I’d felt anything, ever. Whatever happened with the rest of it, that was the vital link. It was a bond that could mean the difference between Tyler thriving and losing it. Something he could take through life with him, whatever else happened. That there was someone in the world who loved him unconditionally.

If I felt tearful even thinking that, I definitely felt on the edge of blubbering as Tyler tried to adjust to his new reality over the next few days. We tried hard to keep him busy and positive, but it hung over him like a veil, and I knew that encounter outside the courtroom had really crushed him. And that wasn’t surprising, was it? It had been the first time he’d seen his dad since he’d been placed with us, and his dad couldn’t have made it plainer that not only was he not that fussed about seeing Tyler, he was without question putting his wife’s ‘needs’ first.

I was therefore constantly trying to put a positive spin on everything, pointing out that things might well change once the dust had settled, that John was working towards them getting together, that he might soon see Grant, but at the same time I didn’t want to go overboard with that theme as, in reality, it might not be happening. Tyler, too, tried his best to stay hopeful. Like all children, all he wanted was to be loved by those he cared for, and to entertain the possibility that his love for his dad might not be reciprocated was anathema – it probably just wouldn’t compute.

I’d seen that, too, many times, and it never got any easier. With our first foster child, Justin – he’d been so desperate for any tiny shred of affection from a mother who had spent all 11 years of his young life demonstrating that there was none. He’d been in and out of care since he was five when he’d come to us – and, most of the time, it had been her who’d made the call to have him taken. Yet still he hoped, because children are hard-wired to hope, despite the mountain of evidence that, actually, hope was pointless – that she’d rather be shot of her eldest child altogether.

We still saw Justin regularly – he was 17 now – and nothing had changed. Still he tried to make overtures, still she brusquely rebuffed them, and he’d be back licking his wounds before trying again.

Then there were the children who’d come to us looking like Dickensian urchins, having suffered both an unspeakable level of neglect and systematic sexual abuse. They still loved the grandad who had committed such evil; still craved cuddles with that vile human monster. Still loved the mother who’d stood by and allowed it to happen. It was sick but it was also a fact of life.

I obviously couldn’t make Tyler’s dad love him and stand by him, but I could at least show him that there were people in the world who cared for him, and during the first couple of weeks of the school holidays I kept him on a tight leash with his points and kept him busy. He went to football with Kieron on the Saturday – without incident – and the following Tuesday I took him round to spend the afternoon at Mum and Dad’s.

‘It will be a great opportunity for you to earn yourself some points,’ I told him. ‘Points you need if you’re going to get any more credit on that phone of yours.’

Since having his wings clipped by the court, Tyler’s behaviour had been generally acceptable at home, but he was still prone to bouts of disobedience. Once he got in that ‘the world hates me so I hate the world’ mood, trying to get him to do as he was told was like trying to push a car up a hill through treacle.

But the relentless warmth-assault from all of us was hard to resist, and with my mum and dad growing so fond of him, he’d been round there again. I’d since taken him twice more, the first time with Riley and the little ones, where he seemed to really enjoy playing with Levi and Jackson. He was a typical older brother, naturally assuming the role of head honcho – which, given the boisterous boy-games he naturally wanted to organise, Levi and Jackson lapped up with great enthusiasm. I also took him round a couple of days later, to help me mow the lawn and weed the garden – and, again, he rose to the challenge with a gratifying amount of gusto, particularly when I trusted him to manage the elderly Flymo on his own.

He also had a session with the court-appointed officer, a rather stuffy 40-something man called Mr Jonathon Smart – with emphasis very much on the ‘mister’ and the ‘smart’. He was meant to be doing some reparation work with Tyler, using a variety of media methods, such as art work, clay modelling and writing letters to victims. Although in Tyler’s case it was deemed unnecessary to have to write to his stepmum if he didn’t want to – in the interests of maintaining family harmony.
Family harmony, my foot!
I thought when Mr Smart mentioned this to me. He clearly had little idea of the family dynamic. And not much more about making a connection with 11-year-old boys, to my mind. But I held my tongue. He was only doing what he’d been appointed to, after all, and the charitable side of me felt bound not to stand in judgement. Even so, it all still felt like a case of going through the motions.

The sessions were held in my living room, and while they were happening I was expected to make myself scarce. This suited me just fine, as his old-fashioned, out-of-touch manner set my teeth on edge, and I much preferred to have the chance to harness my irritation by launching into productive bouts of even-more-frenetic-that-usual cleaning.

It was to be the following Wednesday, however, when it really hit home that, while all the activities did a great job of filling the days with positives (well, perhaps bar the Mr Smart sessions), what Tyler needed more than anything was some connection with his
own
family – specifically, some quality time with his younger brother. It just wasn’t right or natural for them to be parted like this.

Will had taken Tyler swimming again, and the reason for his enthusiasm for the sport was now apparent – Will’s younger brother was a lifeguard at the local leisure pool and he often took his young charges there. They’d gone off at around three and I’d been expecting them back at six-ish, but a text from Will at around five had alerted me to the fact that they probably wouldn’t return home till after seven.

And the reason why became apparent as soon as they arrived back. Usually, Will would drop him off and we’d wave goodbye from the doorstep, but tonight, as Tyler thundered up the path, swimming bag swinging madly from his shoulder, I noticed Will was climbing out of the car as well.

‘I’ve been to a party!’ Tyler exclaimed. ‘Look!’ he said, thrusting a small bag towards me. ‘I’ve got a lump of cake and everything!’

To see such a smile on his face was a lovely, lovely thing. ‘A party?’ I said, as Will headed towards us. ‘How lovely. Whose party was this?’

‘It was Grant’s friend. He’s called Daniel, and he was 11, and he was having a swimming party. They had the big inflatable out and everything. It was epic!’

Will, too, was grinning. ‘He blagged an invite, didn’t you, Ty? Charm the birds out of the trees, this one,’ he said, chuckling.

‘I didn’t blag it!’ Tyler corrected indignantly. ‘It was Dan’s mum – she just invited me. Will told her who I was an’ that I was Grant’s brother and everything, and she said I could join in. And our team won the relay race, so I got a bunch of sweets as well!’

He was like a bottle of pop, he was so excited, and I felt a rush of love for him. He’d had a rubbish few weeks, all told – excluded from his last school, thrown into a new one where he knew no one, the court case, the reality of his fractured, broken family. Thank heavens for Daniel’s mum. Whoever she was, I could have hugged her. Bless her for showing him such kindness.

‘Sweets as well?’ I said. ‘Yum. I hope you’ve saved a couple for me.’

‘You can have them all,’ he said, thrusting the bag towards me. ‘Well, what’s left in there anyway. I’m stuffed. We had, like,
so
much food, Casey. It was like a feast! And guess what?’

‘What?’ I laughed.

‘There’s brilliant news, isn’t there, Will?’

Will nodded and smiled, but as he looked at me I saw something else cross his eyes. A hint of reticence?

‘It’s about Grant,’ Tyler said. ‘He’s only coming to my school, Casey!’

‘Is that so?’ I said, feigning surprise. ‘Well, I never!’

‘Isn’t that
brilliant
? He starts in September. So we’ll be able to see each other all the time in school and everything.’

‘That would indeed be brilliant,’ I agreed. ‘Something to look forward to,’ I added. ‘Though right now you need to get those wet things out and hung up, don’t you? Actually, I tell you what – why don’t you pop them straight in the washing machine so I can give them a rinse? And what d’you say?’ I added, as he made to head inside.

‘Oh, yeah, sorry. Thanks a mill, Will!’ he said, as they high-fived. ‘See you next week, yeah?’

‘You bet, kiddo,’ said Will, ruffling his hair.

‘Thanks a mill, Will?’ I said, laughing as Tyler trotted off into the kitchen.

Will grinned. ‘It’s kind of become our thing,’ he explained. ‘His idea. Phew – quite an afternoon in the end, that one.’

‘And no sign of stepmother?’

‘No, thank God. Well, on balance – after your run-in with her. I think Grant was being dropped home by one of the other mums. He’s had such a good time, Casey. It was such a tonic for him to do something like that.’

‘I’ll bet,’ I said. ‘Whoever that woman is, she deserves a hug and a medal.’

‘It was a lovely gesture, wasn’t it? And it was so good for him to be able to spend a bit of time with his brother – honestly, he was like a different kid. We really do have to find a way to get some contact set up there.’

‘You’re telling me,’ I said. ‘For
both
of their sakes.’

‘And speaking of birthday parties, have you thought about Tyler’s at all? Only he mentioned that his is just after they go back to school. And, of course, now he’s talking about having a pool party of some sort. Not on that kind of scale, of course – Christ, the poor kid’s hardly had a chance to make any school friends yet, has he? But I thought I’d mention it as something we could perhaps think about.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I agreed. I hadn’t actually given it a thought yet – though I’d filed his date of birth in my head early on in the process (it was one of those things I tended to do automatically) it had completely slipped my mind that it was coming up so soon. ‘And, yes,’ I added, ‘I don’t see why we couldn’t do something like that. And we’re like rent-a-crowd, us Watsons, so no problems with numbers. And I’m sure there must be a couple of friends from his old school that we could see about inviting. There’s definitely that older boy – Cameron? And I’m sure there are a couple more. He’s on that mobile enough, for sure. Well, when he’s earned enough credit.’

‘Good,’ Will said decisively. ‘So that’s something for us to mull. And I’m sure my bro would be able to sort something out for us. But right now I’ll leave you to it …’

‘I will duly mull,’ I said, feeling more positive than I had since the court appearance. And even more determined to press for some contact with Grant. ‘I think that’s a brilliant idea,’ I agreed as he turned to go. ‘Oh, and – one more thing …’

‘I know,’ he said, turning back and rolling his eyes. ‘Thanks a mill, Will, by any chance?’

I liked Will, I decided. Very much. Mr Smart could definitely learn from him. Team Tyler was shaping up very well.