by Casey Watson
‘Leave it to me, Mum,’ he said as he picked up a pile of paperwork from the table. ‘I need to go up and make a start on all this anyway. It’s all the stuff from college I have to fill in, and it has to be returned by Friday. I’m going round to Kieron’s in a bit so he can help me with it.’
‘Aww, that’s nice, love,’ I said, because it was. It was lovely to know Tyler had asked Kieron for help and advice, and I knew he’d have been really chuffed, but it was also a joy to me that their brotherly bond was growing so strong. In hindsight, perhaps it was always going to – they definitely had a lot in common. But fostering’s complicated; such relationships with your own children are never a given. And should definitely not be taken for granted. That it’s a whole family enterprise is always taken as read, obviously. No one with children goes into fostering without considering the impact it will have on them – and if they do, they are quickly educated in the reality that it will change the dynamic of the entire family. And we’d been lucky in that regard, because Riley and Kieron had always been supportive of my passion for taking in all the waifs and strays we had down the years. And it had often been in desperate and urgent circumstances, to boot, turning their day-to-day lives upside down in the process.
But what we’d never done was expect them to make befriending these kids a duty. That wouldn’t be fair, and, in some cases, it wouldn’t even be advisable, particularly given the specialist nature of what we did, and the profoundly damaged and unstable nature of some of those children.
This might well have been true of Tyler, given what he’d been through before he’d come to us, but some kind of alchemy had happened – not just to Mike and me, but to the rest of the family too. So perhaps, in hindsight, it would always be a given that we’d all gel. But it still made my heart sing with joy and gratitude every time I saw evidence of that closeness.
I smiled to myself as Tyler bounded up the stairs now. Increasingly he reminded me more and more of Kieron, too; no, he didn’t have Kieron’s Asperger’s but they were both gentle souls. They both had an almost child-like innocence (a big leap, in Tyler’s case, given the horrors that had been visited on him), the same lust for life, the same trusting nature, the same generosity of spirit. It was a comparison that often set me thinking about the nature versus nurture debate. Back when he’d first come to us, as a traumatised eleven-year-old, Tyler had been nothing like my own children, obviously. Yet, five years later, it was as almost as though he’d been brought up in exactly the same way. The longer I fostered, the more evident it became – at least in my experience – that nurture probably played the bigger part in shaping a child. Yet, looking at some kids – for instance, Miller – the ongoing challenges seemed to suggest that nature might be the more persistent, overriding influence. Still a conundrum, then. Perhaps it always would be.
I was cutting some bread when Miller came into the kitchen. Despite the warm sunshine streaming in through the windows, he was wrapped up like he’d just stepped out of his tent in the Arctic. Fleece pyjamas, a hoodie and a heavy fleece dressing gown, the hoods on both of the latter firmly up.
‘Good grief, Miller,’ I said. ‘You must be boiling in all those clothes, love. Why don’t you take a layer or two off? I thought we’d have lunch in the garden today. I’ve made a lovely salad and we’ve got some of that crusty bread you like.’
Miller pulled his ‘d’oh’ face. ‘I haven’t had breakfast yet,’ he pointed out. Then sat down at the table, head hung into his open palms as per usual, all trace of yesterday’s child long extinguished.
As ever, I stood and looked at him and wondered how to play it. Why couldn’t I just seem to ‘be’ with this child? Was it him, or was it me? All these weeks along and there still seemed no natural connection between us. Not even a smidge of one. Every single day he felt like a new puzzle – like I was being handed a new Rubik’s cube to solve every morning, with its endless permutations. And, as ever, at least lately, I thought how fed up I was becoming with having to play out each potential scenario in my head before I could decide which would be the least-worst option.
This was, of course, the stock-in-trade for people dealing with challenging behaviours, but with Miller, because I’d yet to identify a trigger, a thread, a pattern, it was, as a consequence, magnified to the nth degree.
I did it now. I could either do what he wanted and offer him a selection of breakfast items, in which case, depending on his mood, which was unknowable, he would either accept what I offered, or scoff at my suggestions. Alternatively, I could ignore his manipulation attempts, and simply lay out some salad and bread on a plate for him. If I did that, the chances were that he’d either snigger contemptuously, or simply stand up and walk way, saying ‘Fine, I’ll just starve then, as usual’.
I plastered a smile on my face and went for the middle ground.
‘That’s right, love,’ I said. ‘I forgot you didn’t come down for breakfast. Oh well, It’s up to you, sweetie. Whatever. I’ll take my bits out to the garden and leave you to decide. You know where all the breakfast things are, and I’ll just leave out the lunch things.’
I then grabbed my own plate, and left him to it.
‘What?’ I heard him huff, as I went out to embrace the sunshine. ‘Why don’t you just make me something? You’re supposed to be my carer!’
I went out into the garden where the birds were all twittering – twittering on much like I seemed to be doing a lot just lately. It’s fine, love. Whatever, love. That’s okay, love. Do what you like, love … Empty words – white noise, like you’d use to soothing a fretful baby. And all the while, it was like there was a finger being scraped down a blackboard, because in reality, my nerves were constantly jangling. Why did this child, this particular child, more than any other child (or so it seemed currently), have this ability to make me feel so uneasy, so on edge all the time?
Pull yourself together, Casey, I told myself. What on earth is wrong with you? I really didn’t know. I couldn’t remember having felt this wired around a child before, and it was getting to me. It wasn’t as if I were threatened by Miller, was it? I knew he’d threatened violence to previous carers but not, so far, towards me. So was it just feeling so cooped up? So trapped? So unsupported – that old chestnut again – and frustrated that nothing was being done? He’d been with us all this time now, and not a sniff of a strategy on the horizon.
Yes, I knew funds were tight, I knew Libby probably had a punishing workload, I knew CAMHS (Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services) and ELAC were overrun with other children urgently needing help. But that old phrase ‘out of sight out of mind’ kept coming back to me. Miller had been placed with us, and there was a note on his file that said ‘sorted for the moment’. No, of course there wasn’t, but that was certainly how it felt. Until such time as I kicked up sufficient stick to make anyone hear me, ‘sorted for the moment’, in official eyes, was exactly what he was.
What was worse, though, was that I was even ruminating on it in the first place. This wasn’t me. I was ‘sleeves up and get on with it’ personified. Or at least had been. Perhaps my anxieties about taking another child had been well founded. Much as I hated to use the term, perhaps I was getting burned out. It was a term I’d heard countless times, especially about long-term foster carers. But a term that I never thought would apply to me.
In an effort to banish my irritability I turned to my iPad, and lost myself for a bit on social media. I knew Riley and Kieron would have laughed if they could see me (how many times had I ticked them off for wasting their time on social media?) but scrolling through inspirational mantras, amusing kittens and pictures of other people’s trips to the seaside was, sometimes, food for the soul. As were online debates, and the robust back and forth of local politics; all good, if argumentative, clean fun. I was just posting my sixpence-worth of thoughts about the new council recycling arrangements, in fact, when the conservatory door banged open and my peace was shattered.
Tyler blocked out th
e sun as he stormed into the garden. ‘Mum, seriously, you have to sort him out. Now!’
‘What’s happened, love?’ I asked, looking up into his furious face. ‘He’s a little liar and my stuff better appear on my bed in the next five minutes or I’m taking his control pad. I mean it.’
Before I had the chance to answer, Miller himself appeared. ‘I’ve told him, I don’t know what he’s on about,’ he said calmly, ‘I haven’t even been in his room.’
I put down my iPad. ‘Okay, so what’s going on here?’ I asked. ‘Tyler, you first.’
‘I came down for food and when I went back up, it was gone. All the paperwork I need for college. It was on my bed and now it isn’t. And he was the only one upstairs.’ He was shaking with anger.
I turned to Miller. ‘Okay, where is it, love? What have you done with it?’
‘Nothing!’
‘Come on. Just give it back, please, like Tyler’s asked.’
‘Oh my God!’ Miller said, splaying his hands dramatically. ‘I was only two minutes in front of him, that’s all. Two minutes! And I never went in his room. And why would I want his paperwork?’ He flapped his arms down against his sides again. ‘Why do I get the blame for everything?’
‘Because you were the only person up there, dumb arse!’ Tyler barked.
‘Tyler!’ I said. ‘There’s no need for that. Now are you sure you haven’t put them in a drawer, or left them in the bathroom, or anything?’
Tyler looked as if he could kill someone. Miller, most likely. ‘Mum, I know where I left them, trust me. Grrrrr!’
I could see him clenching and unclenching his fists, and felt a rush of anxiety. This could escalate fast. He then jabbed a finger in Miller’s direction, which literally made Miller jump.
‘You are so for it!’ he yelled. Then, to my horror, he turned the hand into a fist, and began drawing his arm back. Tyler was boiling with rage now, and for one awful moment I really, really though he was going to thump Miller. I leapt from my seat, galvanised. And, thankfully, it was enough. Tyler wound himself in again, turned on his heel and, with a final scowl at Miller, stomped back inside again.
I then heard a door slam. Though I didn’t know which one.
I rounded on Miller again. ‘Look, Miller,’ I said. ‘Please just do yourself a favour here. Did you take them? For a joke? To wind Tyler up? Because if you did, now is your best chance – perhaps your only chance – to make things right with him. So I suggest you come clean before this gets any worse for you.’
Even as I was saying it I was all too aware of its pointlessness. This was what he wanted. To make trouble. To wind everyone up. And even though I thought I saw a trace of something when I pointed out that Tyler had been extremely kind to him, he was holding firm, just like a whipped politician, sticking to the party line no matter what.
Shaken, yes – there was absolutely no doubt about that – but still not sufficiently stirred. He just glared back at me, his eyes darkening, his gaze fully focused. ‘I. Never. Took. Them.’ he said evenly. ‘I. Didn’t. Go. In. His. Room.’
I shook my head in frustration. ‘Miller, like Ty said, there is no one else in the house, so if they’re gone, then you most certainly did take them.’ I held his gaze. ‘And now is your opportunity to tell me the truth. So stop this right now and just tell me where they are.’
He turned away from me, and for a moment I felt an urge to yank him physically back to face me. It wasn’t only Tyler he had managed to goad into the thought of physical violence. ‘I hate this house,’ he said, as he too stomped back towards the house. ‘I can’t wait to start school so I can get out of here!’
Every cloud, I thought. At least that one thing. Every cloud … But there was no point calling after him, as he’d already gone. I picked up my plate, looking miserably at my half-finished lunch. Feeling so exasperated that I didn’t know quite what to do with myself. How could anyone hope to manage, much less make any progress with, a child who so actively sought conflict? Who, in response to ‘you are for it’, was constantly saying ‘bring it on’?
There was nothing for it, then, except to help Tyler search for the papers, and, if necessary, to turn Miller’s room upside down. Turn the whole house upside down if needed be. So be it, I thought grimly, as I went back inside.
But it wasn’t just the papers that had disappeared into thin air. It seemed Tyler had too.
Chapter 16
‘Mum, it’s me. Panic over. Tyler’s here with us.’
It was now almost six and it was Kieron on the phone, after what had turned into an increasingly fractious afternoon. And not just because I’d got nowhere with finding Tyler’s college papers (wherever Miller had hidden his spoils, he’d made sure I wouldn’t – I was sure of it), but because Tyler had run off, and I had no idea where he’d gone.
To be fair, he was sixteen, so I wasn’t fearing for his safety. And he’d been seriously angry, so I could well see why he’d disappeared. And it wasn’t even as if I didn’t know he was alright. He was a good boy and when I’d texted to ask him if he was okay, he’d replied immediately. I’m alright Mum. Just need some distance. But no word on where he was.
And that was fine too. If he needed to cool off, then okay. But my guilt gnawed and gnawed at me. As did Mike’s warning. I had no business expecting Tyler to have to cope with Miller’s antics. Yes, ignoring his protestations of innocence, I’d removed Miller’s TV and PlayStation. But, yet again, it was a ‘stable door and bolted horse’ situation. I should have made sure Tyler didn’t have the grief in the first place.
So, yes, I was angry with Miller. Very angry. But I was much, much more angry with myself.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I said. ‘Is he okay?’
‘Yes, he’s fine, Mum. He just doesn’t want to come back till he can trust himself around Miller. I’ve suggested he stays here tonight. I’m going to take him to the gym with me.’ He chuckled. ‘Take his anger out on some inanimate machinery instead. In the meantime, any luck with his enrolment pack?’
I was forced to tell him no. ‘God only knows what Miller’s done with it.’
‘Well, no matter,’ he replied. ‘I’ll drop him down to college in the morning so he can pick up a new one. It’s no big deal, Mum. Easily sorted. So don’t stress, okay?’
Oh, if only. Because I knew that this wouldn’t be the last of it. Casey nil. Miller now in double digits.
***
The bedside clock read 3.00 a.m. when I woke. Groggy and confused, I didn’t know what had woken me exactly; Mike was fast asleep beside me, and as I lay in the dark, the silence was absolute.
Miller, then. Always Miller. On one of his night ops, no doubt. And I was just heaving the duvet off so I could go and chastise him when it hit me. It hadn’t been a noise, but a smell.
Alert now, I suddenly knew exactly what it was, too. As an ex-smoker I could instantly recognise the smell of tobacco, and that was definitely what I was smelling now.
I could have slapped myself. Those bloody cigarettes. That missing lighter. Why hadn’t I search Miller’s bedroom more thoroughly? Me, of all people. Me, who didn’t mind bending the rules? Yet in this case I hadn’t. Why on earth hadn’t I just done it?
I leapt out of bed and padded out onto the landing, where the smell was immediately stronger. I didn’t bother to knock – just went straight in, to what first appeared to be an empty room. Till I realised that, silhouetted against the clear night sky, was Miller, sitting astride the windowsill.
He actually grinned when he saw me. He had a cigarette in his mouth, a lighter in one hand, and in the other – that hand that was outside the wide-open window – dangled a burning piece of paper.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I asked, my anger bubbling up under the surface. ‘Get down from there right now, and put that bloody cigarette out immediately!’
Miller continued to grin as he dropped the page he was burning, presumably to float down into the back garden below. He then sucked on the cigar
ette before taking it from his mouth, and blowing a series of smoke rings – bloody smoke rings! – back into the room.
I marched straight across to him, snatched the cigarette from his hand, and threw it out of the open window into the garden as well. I then grabbed his arm and pulled him in from the ledge.
‘I don’t know who the hell you think you are, or what kind of person you think I am,’ I said, my face close to his own, my hand still clamped around his wrist, ‘but I promise you right now, Miller, you can push and push as much as you like, but nothing about this placement will change because you want to make it so. Do you understand?’
Miller, for the first time, looked a little taken aback. Afraid even. As he had a right to be. I’d never been so in-your-face angry with him, or as threateningly close to him before. ‘No, I don’t understand,’ he said, pulling away from me and moving towards his bed.
‘Well, in that case, let me make it clearer, shall I? I stayed where I was as he scuttled under his duvet. ‘I know how you’ve ended your past placements, Miller. I also know that you think it’s an easy thing to do. To push carers to their limits – to make them so angry that they can’t stand any more of it, and you get to move on. Well, you ought to know that Mike and me, we’re different. We are specialist carers and our job is to look after children who have never been able to settle down elsewhere, and part of our job is to never give up. You get that? You understand that? We never give up. No matter what is thrown at us, we will never give up. So, I’m telling you this because you’re old enough and intelligent enough to hear it. You push as much as you like, kiddo, but nothing changes unless I’m ready to change it. Do you understand?’
