Читать книгу The Boy No One Loved and Crying for Help 2-in-1 Collection - Casey Watson, Casey Watson - Страница 12

I woke on Christmas morning in my usual good spirits, and was once again up early, and straight down in the living room, flicking through the TV channels to find something festive to put on. After a few clicks of the remote I found The Wizard of Oz – one of my favourites – so I left that playing while I headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, where I added my Christmas CD to the cacophony, turning it up just that little bit too much.

‘For God’s sake, love!’ said Mike, following me in there in his dressing gown.

I pulled him towards me and tried to get him to do a twirl with me, but he was having none of it. ‘Get off me, you nutter!’ he said, grinning. ‘You’ll have the whole bloody street up with the racket you’re making! Go get some breakfast on, woman!’

He then kissed me on the nose and gave me a bear hug. ‘I’ll go and get these kids up, then, shall I?’

I smiled to myself as I went to the fridge and started pulling out bacon and orange juice. I had the best husband ever. I truly believed that. Never in a million years would I have considered becoming a foster parent if I hadn’t had a great man like Mike by my side.

By the time we took on Justin, Mike and I had been married for twelve years, though we had been together as a couple for much longer. We’d known each other since childhood, and had always been friends. It was only after my first marriage had broken down and I had turned to friends for support, that Mike and I had realised just how much we meant to each other. The rest, as they say, is history, and we remain just as much in love today as we always were.

He was also my rock and my foil – we fitted perfectly. Where I was impetuous and excitable, he was so calm and wise, and he also made me feel safe, both emotionally and physically – he was well over six foot to my diminutive five foot nothing, and I knew I could rely on him totally.

I glanced at the many reminders and post-it notes stuck on the fridge door as I closed it, and which I’d had to prune out and squash up to make way for some big new ones. Beside the meal chart – on which I’d remembered to record both our turkey dinner and our bacon buttie breakfast – was the points chart we’d had in place for Justin from day one, as part of our strategy to get him to modify his behaviour and so – hopefully – be in a position to return to mainstream foster care once he’d completed the programme with us. That was all that we were hoping for (though the word ‘all’ is obviously a pretty big one) – to get him successfully placed with a long-term foster family and thereby have a chance of a happy and useful adult life.

The way we worked the points chart was simple. When he had amassed sufficient he was allowed a choice of treats as a reward; things like choosing the family dinner, say, or having an outing of some sort, the hope being that he’d be motivated to try and earn them. Because no points, of course, meant no treats. If he was good, and did all the day-to-day things we required of him, like cleaning his teeth, making his bed, being polite and so on, he got points awarded. But if he did something bad, he would lose them again. Last night’s episode, sadly, had seen him lose a lot. But, largely thanks to Mike’s input, he’d apologised now, which was no small thing for a child in his situation to do. I was so glad we were now starting Christmas Day on a positive note. The only fly in the ointment was an obvious one. We’d bought him some DVDs for Christmas, as had Riley, and a few others, and now he had nothing on which to play them.

But there was no point in me worrying about that now. We’d just have to deal with it when we got to it, I supposed. At the moment all was calm and that was good enough for me.

And also Kieron, who was down in the kitchen moments later, clearly back to his old self after the scene he had witnessed last night, and as excited about Christmas at 19 years of age as he’d been throughout the whole of his childhood. Where the run-up meant stress and anxiety and disruption, the big day itself was completely predictable, being one of those days in the calendar where our family routine hardly varied, which meant it was perfect for someone like my son. Mostly, of course, it meant lots of presents, which we still – at his request – put into a great big Christmas sack.

We’d done one for Justin, too, who thundered down close behind Kieron, looking so much calmer and happier now the day itself was finally here. In some respects, they had quite a lot in common.

I tried keeping some order on proceedings in the living room, but it was pointless. Since we’d had children big enough to create chaos, it always had been. ‘Check the tags, love,’ I urged Justin, as he ripped hell for leather into all the wrapping paper, ‘or you won’t have any idea who bought you what!’

My words were falling on deaf ears, though; he was just way too excited to take heed of what I was saying, and I decided that since this was probably a really big deal for him, I wouldn’t spoil the moment by nagging. ‘Tell you what,’ I said, as I stooped to gather up all the discarded wrapping paper, ‘you’ll just have to say “thank you for my present” to everyone. That way you won’t go far wrong.’

I was so touched by what an impressive haul he had, too. Everyone in my extended family had got him something, which they really didn’t have to do, bless them. I was particularly touched to see how much care Riley had taken. This was a child she’d not laid eyes on till half-way through December, not to mention the fact that she and David didn’t exactly have fortunes to splash around, yet she’d bought him such a lovely collection of toy soldiers, together with all the guns and grenades and other bits and bobs to go with them. I found myself smiling at this, too – we’d be having a job getting him out of the bath now.

The floor of the lounge was by now a sea of presents and torn paper, and it was the rustling of this that made me turn to see Mike sloping out. I’d assumed he’d just gone out to turn over the bacon, but he returned with a present I’d not seen before. He handed it to a surprised-looking Justin.

‘You might need this,’ he said, grinning, and before I could even wonder, Justin had opened the package to find a DVD player inside. He whispered a shocked but clearly delighted ‘thank you’ to Mike, and the expression on his face – now rather red – was a picture. As, I’m sure, was the expression on mine.

‘Where on earth did that come from?’ I asked Mike once we were back alone in the kitchen, getting breakfast dished up.

‘I called our Angela last night, after you’d gone up to bed,’ he explained. Angela was his sister. ‘I just kept thinking we couldn’t have the lad with nothing to play his new DVDs on, could we? I mean, I know it’s important that he learns that actions have consequences, and I still think he should save up half the money for a new one. But, well, it’s Christmas Day, isn’t it? No harm in letting him have that one for the time being, is there?’

‘But how did it get here?’

‘She drove round with it. While you were spark out in bed.’

I threw my arms around him. ‘Love, you are just wonderful,’ I said. ‘That’s such a thoughtful thing to have done.’

‘I was thinking about the rest of us as much as anything,’ he said ruefully. ‘He’s bound to be on edge, you know. Thinking about tomorrow and seeing his mum and brothers and everything. Be good for all of us if he has something to take his mind off it, I thought.’

But as it turned out, Justin was anything but anxious on Boxing Day morning. Superficially, at least, he seemed really happy and excited. Perhaps I should have taken that in itself as an omen. Get over-excited about something in life and it’s odds on that you’ll be disappointed. And right now he was as bouncy as a rubber ball.

‘Mum wasn’t having her Christmas dinner yesterday,’ he told me brightly, as we fed him an early breakfast of cereal, toast and orange juice. It was only just gone seven, and I was feeling the hour. We’d all really gone to bed much too late. ‘She was saving it to have once I get there,’ he went on. ‘Bet my brothers were mad as hell about that!’

Despite my being pleased to see him animated – he’d become more withdrawn and uncommunicative as Christmas Day had worn on, which I’d put down to the twin evils of anti-climax after the presents and anxiety about seeing his mum – I offered up a silent prayer that fate would be on his side and that he wouldn’t be disappointed. But the little I did know of his mother hardly filled me with optimism. He’d been in care since he was five. That spoke volumes in itself, let alone the fact that it had been a voluntary care order – she hadn’t fought to keep him. Had given him up willingly. And why only Justin in care? Why not the other two as well?

‘My social worker says she’s got loads and loads of stuff for me,’ he went on. ‘I bet I have an even better Christmas today, don’t you, Casey? I bet I will.’

Justin had spoken with Harrison Green on the phone a couple of days back – a mandatory phone call made when a child is first fostered just to check the child is okay and that things are going well. It’s done in private, so the child can be honest if they’re not happy. I hoped that wasn’t the case with Justin, but who knew?

I told him that, yes, he most probably would have a wonderful second Christmas Day, while at the same time cursing Harrison for passing on such unnecessary details and over-exciting him. Why do that? Why get his hopes up about things he didn’t actually know to be true? Especially when the history with Janice – that was his mother’s name, apparently – had clearly shown they might well be dashed.

I waved them off, finally – it would be a long, boring six-hour drive there and back for Mike, bless him – and decided I should put it all out of my mind. Maybe his mother wasn’t as bad as we suspected. And there was no getting away from it: I needed a break. Had it really only been a week since Justin had moved in with us – less than two since we’d all first clapped eyes on him? In some ways it felt like a lifetime. He’d certainly turned all our lives upside down. But I knew it would be easier once the new school term started. That was when we’d settle into some sort of routine. In the meantime, I’d better shower and dress and get going, I realised. Me and Kieron were going to spend the day round at Riley and David’s. Mike would come there when he was back after dropping off Justin, and take me home a bit later for the blissful evening of relaxation we’d planned, just the two of us, in front of the TV. I couldn’t have looked forward to anything more keenly, I decided, as I happily skipped back upstairs to get ready.

‘Chinese or Indian?’ Mike wanted to know. ‘They’re both open. I’m feeling curry, myself – you?’

‘Don’t care,’ I called back to him as I plumped the sofa cushions, so we could sit down and watch yet another movie.

It was coming up to seven now, and the two of us were downing tools for the evening. Mike had returned around 2.30 and come straight round to Riley’s, and we’d spent an enjoyable couple of hours there, just chatting about nothing; something which, like tonight, felt like a very distant luxury; one which I aimed to enjoy to the full.

Kieron was now out – some sort of lads’ night on the tiles with a group of his college friends, and wouldn’t be back again tonight. He was loving college and we were so happy to see him fitting in so well there. He was really interested in becoming a professional DJ on the club circuits, so had decided to enrol on a media studies course. He was into his second term now and his tutor had said that he was making great progress. He’d also settled in socially and had made some solid friendships – he’d be sleeping over with one of his mates tonight, probably so we wouldn’t see what sort of state he’d be in.

Mike filled me in on his first impressions of Justin’s mother when we got home. Justin himself had apparently continued to be excited for the whole journey, babbling on about his little brothers and reminiscing about other Christmases and how exciting they had been. But when Mike asked anything specific, he tended to skirt around it; it was as if, Mike felt, he had this idealised perfect Christmas tableau in his mind, and that anything that reminded him of the reality had to be ignored, or the picture would be ruined.

Janice, Mike also told me, to my surprise, looked a bit like me. She was only a couple of inches taller than me and had the same dark eyes and black hair. He said she seemed very friendly and had invited him in. He’d felt reluctant but Justin was apparently insistent that he go in and meet his little brothers.

‘Oh, I wish I’d been there with you,’ I told him. ‘I’d have loved to have met the little ones. What were they like? Did they look anything like Justin?’

Mike looked at me with that characteristically blank male expression. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘I didn’t really notice.’

Typical male, I thought. Completely failed to get the facts. I shook my head. ‘So what did the house look like, anyway? Were the kids well dressed? Were there books around? What sort of toys?’

‘Hang on,’ he said, pretending to rummage in his pocket. ‘I think I have the full list right here. Complete with photographs …’

But I did wheedle some facts out of him eventually.

The family lived in a council house in the middle of a run-down estate, and the garden, Mike said, was full of rubbish. An old sofa, a load of broken kids’ toys, and so on, were strewn around, while inside it was old fashioned, with an old fabric suite, seventies-style brown curtains and an ashtray that was overflowing with cigarette ends. The one incongruous thing was an enormous flat-screen telly and home-entertainment system, which apparently took up almost one whole wall of the living room.

He was satisfied, however, that Janice’s welcome was authentic, and that she and Justin were genuinely pleased to see each other.

Mike looked tired now, and he’d have another early start tomorrow, as he was due to collect Justin from his mum’s at around noon. So, satisfied that all was okay, I could finally relax – I intended to make the most of some ‘us’ time before then.

‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ is on – perfect!’ I said as he returned with the take-away menus. ‘And it’s only just started, too. Come on, snuggle up. You can put the order in when they have the next bunch of adverts.’ I had held off from eating for most of the day, and was definitely looking forward to my Indian-style butter chicken and pilau rice, but I could hold off for another twenty minutes.

But whatever was going on in Jimmy Stewart’s life, someone up there definitely didn’t seem to like us. From the hall we could suddenly hear ringing – it was the phone. ‘Who on earth could that be?’ I said, as we both went to get up from the sofa at the same moment. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ I told Mike, nudging him back down again. ‘Stay put there. I’ll go and see.’

I walked out into the hallway and picked up the receiver, by now half-expecting to hear either my mum or dad’s voice – the rest of the family, like us, all used their mobiles these days. But before I could so much as get half a word out, I was greeted by the sound of an angry woman’s voice.

‘Can you come and get this little bastard?’ she snarled at me. ‘I fucking mean it. Come and get him now!’

I was absolutely gobsmacked and at first had no idea what was happening. ‘I beg your pardon,’ I said. ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s me!’ the woman snapped. ‘Janice. Is that Casey?’

This was the first time I’d ever spoken to Justin’s mother and I was mortified. ‘Janice!’ I said. ‘What’s the matter? What’s wrong?’

I could hear her shouting, then, away from the phone, to someone else. ‘You go near those kids, I’ll kill you, you evil little bastard! You there, Casey?’ She was back shouting at me again now. ‘Can you here what’s going on here? Can you?’

‘Please Janice,’ I said, trying to keep my own voice calm and level. Mike had appeared in the hall now and was looking at me quizzically. ‘Just tell me what’s going on there. Is Justin alright?’

She laughed sarcastically, but I could tell she was finding none of this any funnier than I was. ‘Justin? Is fucking Justin alright? No he’s not! He’s not fucking right in the head!’ She burst into tears then and now I could hear Justin in the background. He was shouting now: ‘Casey! You’d better come and get me, Casey! I’m going to kill this fucking bitch in a minute!’

I tried hard to keep composed in the face of the reality that Mike would have to get him, and right away. ‘Right, Janice,’ I told her. ‘Janice? Listen. Mike’s going to set off now, okay. Just try to calm down … he’ll get to you as soon as he can … tell you what, can you put Justin on the phone for me?’

I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece. ‘I’m so sorry, love,’ I mouthed at Mike, making faces to let him know that there’d been some sort of crisis. ‘But you’re going to have to go back and get him. Sounds like all hell’s broken out up there. She’s hysterical and crying and he’s threatening to kill her. God … Can you just get ready while I try to calm things down?’

Mike, now resigned to the fact that our ‘peaceful’ night was not to be after all, left me trying to get to the bottom of things while he went to get himself ready for another long drive. In the meantime, I heard the phone being picked up again. ‘Justin? Is that you, love? What’s been happening? What’s going on?’

He was crying too. Big snuffling sobs were pouring out of him in waves. ‘Just get me, please, Casey. I’m going to kill the slag, I swear it!’

‘Justin, love, it’s okay. It’ll all be okay. Mike’s already left …’ which was only half a lie since he was doing so even as I said it, bless him ‘– and he’ll get there as soon as he can, okay?’

I could still hear Janice, close by. ‘Little bastard!’ she was shouting, and I presumed it was for my benefit. ‘I’ve a good mind to call the fucking cops! Hit your fucking mother would you, you little bastard?’

‘Casey,’ Justin said then. ‘I’ve gotta go now. Okay? I’ll tell you later.’ God, I thought miserably. Tell me what? ‘Just tell Mike to hurry up, okay?’

And with that, he hung up. All we could now hear was the twang of James Stewart coming from the TV.

Yup, I thought grimly. Such a wonderful life.

It was in the small hours before Mike returned home with Justin. A very tense time since, in his rush to go and get him, Mike had not only left his mobile behind, he’d also left his wallet, and had been really concerned that he’d run out of petrol on the way home.

Justin looked shattered and in terrible pain and immediately went up to his bedroom. I wanted to reach out to him – if only just to hug him – but he seemed shut down and I sensibly didn’t try to stop him. There was nothing to be achieved at this hour of the night. Let him sleep. That was the best thing. Time enough to deal with the whole sorry debacle in the morning.

Still, I felt desperately sorry for him; I was physically aching with the kind of pain any mother feels when one of her children is hurt or so deeply upset. Mike, too, looked tired – as he had every right to. I flicked the switch on the kettle and waited for him to speak.

‘It was a bloody mess,’ he said, once he’d sat down and got his freezing hands around a hot mug of coffee. ‘She was already out and down the front path in her dressing gown before I’d so much as killed the engine and climbed out of the car. She was dragging the little ones with her, too. Couldn’t shut her up – went off like a rocket – all about how she’d thought she’d surprise him by telling him she was pregnant – can you credit it? – and how he’d immediately lunged at her – by all accounts – and called her “fucking slut” and a “dirty whore”.’

I shook my head, listening to all this. ‘Pregnant?’

‘So she said. Anyway, she told me she hit him back when he said that, and he apparently hit her right back again, threatening to punch her in the stomach.’

I couldn’t take it in, even though it was perhaps exactly what we should have expected, given the history. ‘Oh, God,’ I said, with feeling. ‘What a mess.’

‘Oh, but there’s worse. He then “purposefully” – though how you can do that I don’t know – threw up all over his unopened Christmas presents and then told her she could stick them all up her arse. The little ones were apparently crying and begging him to be nice to her, but his response, or so she tells me, was to start on them too – telling them that their mother was a slut and both their dads were junkies. And so on and so forth till we got the call.’

‘Where was Justin while she was telling you all this? Did he have his own version?’

‘No. Not with us. He was already by the car. He had run out ahead of her when I first pulled up. He was just sat in the road, against the wheel, on the far side, crying his bloody eyes out.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it, Case. Really, I can’t. How could the woman be so bloody insensitive that she had no idea – and she didn’t, you could see that pretty clearly – how much she’d hurt him by what she’d said to him. Tell you what, I could have happily smacked her myself.’

‘So did Justin tell you much when you set off?’

Mike shook his head. ‘He was wretched, Case, really wretched. He said the first thing she told him was that they’d already done Christmas the day before, and that the second was that she had a surprise for him. And, I mean, if you say that to a kid …’. He shook his head again, and I could see the whole thing had really got to him. ‘But the surprise, of course, was that she was going to have a little girl. He said she really seemed to think the idea was funny – I think it’s bloody criminal – and that she told him this girl of hers was going to be a princess and be spoiled and have everything. And be special. Not a “lunatic like him”, those were his exact words’. He sipped his coffee and sighed as he set the mug down. ‘And then he slept. All the rest of the way home.’

We went to bed heavy of heart, around three. How could any mother in the world say such wicked things to her own child? One thing was sure: if we had even the smallest chance of helping Justin, there was so, so much more that we needed to know.