by Casey Watson
***
At around three that afternoon, a young fire officer arrived at the house, armed with a small laptop and a big smile. He looked to be in his early thirties and was so tall that he had to duck his head as he entered the house.
‘Well, I thought my husband was tall,’ I said, as he bent even lower to come into the living room. ‘I must look like someone from Gulliver’s Travels to you.’
The fireman laughed. ‘Not just you, Mrs Watson, I can assure you. I kind of have this dwarfing effect on most people. I blame my father. I’m David Helm, by the way,’ he added, holding his hand out for me to shake. ‘I trust the young man in question is ready to meet me?’
‘It’s Miller,’ I told him. ‘And please, call me Casey. But I’m afraid he’s upstairs and I doubt he’ll come down. He’s not asleep – he’s playing on his PlayStation – but I’ve tried everything to get him down here for your arrival, without success. I even told him you’d march up there and do the work right there on his bed, but he still won’t come down, I’m afraid.’
‘Well if you don’t mind, that’s exactly what I will do,’ he said. ‘When I’m right there in front of them, most boys tend to listen to what I have to say. Would that be okay with you?’
I had no doubt at all that most boys would listen to this imposing fellow, but would Miller? Though he was in the habit of listening more to males rather than females, he wasn’t ‘most boys’ – far from it. Still, after the fraught, defeated expressions of my earlier visitors, this young man’s demeanour was like a breath of fresh air. ‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘Though you’ll probably have to open his curtains, and please ignore the state of his room, but, yes, please, be my guest. Top of the stairs, turn right, second room. ’
He patted his laptop. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said with a grin. ‘All I need is this and my charming banter, and he’ll be putty in my hands.’
Bolstered and inspired by his confidence, I left him to it, but still crossed my fingers for good measure. Perhaps a stranger of this kind coming in would flip some switch and get him to communicate properly, in a two-way conversation. But I wasn’t holding my breath.
I’d been right not to, as well. Because half an hour later, David Helm was back downstairs, looking decidedly more frazzled than when he went up. ‘Wow,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That was a career first. What an odd experience.’
My heart sank. ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘He wasn’t hiding in the wardrobe was he?’
‘The wardrobe?’ he shook his head again. ‘Oh, nothing like that. He was watching TV, as you’d said.’
‘And he was happy to listen to you?’
‘Oh, more than happy. That’s exactly my point. He listened more intently, I think, than any other kid I’ve ever talked to. Quite bizarre. He kept asking me to pause the video we were watching, so he could ask questions – which, of course, is normally a good thing – but Miller’s questions weren’t exactly what you’d expect. He wanted to know how the flames would make you feel, what the pain was like, how much it hurt. Wanted to know if I had I ever seen a dead, burned little child. Or a dead dog. I have to say, it was as if he was mesmerised. As if he was actually getting excited by the horrible scenes.’
‘Well, that fits, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘He is a bit overly obsessed by gore and death. Disasters of any kind seem to excite him, to be honest. So maybe this wasn’t the best idea, after all.’
The fire officer nodded. ‘I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with you, Mrs Watson. The boy clearly knows the dangers of fire, and how fast it can spread. He knew all of that – he knows exactly how smoke and heat detectors work. He reeled all of that off to shut me up, I think. His only interest seemed to be about how much it might hurt to be burned in a fire, and he seemed to think I’d be able to describe that to him, which he was very keen for me to do. Is he having any counselling?’
I smiled a rueful smile. Oh, if only, I thought. Chance would be a fine thing. ‘He will be,’ I said, ‘and thanks for coming anyway. It’s … well, it’s at least ticked a box after what happened, which has to be a good thing. Let’s just hope some of what you’ve told and shown him has sunk in somewhere.’
‘Well, I’m only sorry I couldn’t be of more help,’ he said as I showed him out. ‘And do give us a ring if you need us to do anything else, won’t you? Though, to my mind, given his interest in people being burned, I’d suggest fire-proofing your home is the key priority.’ He turned on the step. ‘It’s not too much of a cliché, Mrs Watson, to say with this one, you could be playing with fire.’
***
The fire officer’s words, which had echoed Mike’s, stayed with me. Was that it? Was Miller actually not just expecting some sort of Armageddon but welcoming one too?
One thing was for sure. Given this latest insight into Miller-world, school had to happen. He was a child with some very deep-seated psychological problems and things were fast becoming unsustainable as they were. So, after writing up yet another report and emailing it straight to Christine and Libby, I decided to get stuck into more practical matters, unwrapping, sorting out, labelling and ironing everything Miller was going to need for school.
The transport company had already confirmed that they would arrive at 7.10 a.m. on Monday morning, and that an escort would accompany Miller in the back seat to avoid any risk of him kicking off and distracting the driver. So at least all bases, it seemed, were covered. All that was left for me to do was to ensure he was up in time and in the mood to do what was expected of him – i.e. get into the car. I could only cross my fingers and pray. Though as I wasn’t much of a praying type – at least not of the ‘kneel down, hands together’ variety. I instead raised my gaze to the kitchen ceiling and, since I was always told the universe provided, asked for some support there instead.
And the universe works in mysterious ways. Because I’d just put the ironing board back into its slot in the conservatory when I heard the doorbell. And was surprised to see an unfamiliar woman on my doorstep.
She had a sunny smile and a folded Tesco carrier bag in her hand. ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry to call unannounced, but I’m Jenny, Miller’s old foster carer? We spoke on the phone?’
‘Oh, of course,’ I said. ‘Hello. Please. Come on in.’
She did so. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, it was just that I had an appointment to view a house over in this neck of the woods, and with Libby living all the way over the other side of town, it just seemed to make sense to come here instead. Sorry,’ she added, seeing my evident confusion, ‘I’ve got Miller’s laptop for you. And I can maybe say a quick hello to him too. Well, if he’s here, that is.’
‘Oh, he’s here alright,’ I said. ‘He’s supposed to be starting at a school on Monday, but for the moment it’s still very much business as usual, I’m afraid.’ I rolled my eyes ceiling-wards to indicate and she shook her head.
‘Well, you’re a better woman than I am. I just couldn’t …’ Another head shake. ‘Well, I suppose it’s done now. Some kids … well …’ She seemed to shudder. ‘And with my husband working away … well, I don’t need to tell you, do I? Anyway, all yours.’ She handed the bag to me. ‘To do with as you will.’
There was a part of me that wanted to sit down with her, ask her about Miller’s curious openings-up, hear her take on it – him – find some common ground. Share our thoughts on him. But there was something about her manner, albeit that it was perfectly friendly (we were, after all, both batting for ‘team fostering’), that stopped me. Perhaps, given that she’d passed him on to me, it wouldn’t be appropriate. There is never any blame in such situations, and shouldn’t be, but to quiz her now perhaps wouldn’t result in gain. Besides, if there had been anything more she could tell me, it would have been in his notes or her email, wouldn’t it? It hadn’t been. He’d probably not been with her long enough to get that far.
So we chatted about this and that, about the school and my high hopes for it, and then I went and fetched
the knife to return to her. Which she fell upon gratefully – it was an expensive chef’s knife, after all. ‘Good God, I knew it,’ she said, accepting it. ‘I knew it. The little … You know, I searched high and low for this. High and low.’
‘I imagine he kept it in his case,’ I said. ‘He said he took it for his protection.’
‘Hmm …’ she said. ‘I’m sure he did. A constant theme, that.’
‘So I’ve noticed. And understandable, I suppose,’ I said. ‘Given everything that’s happened to him.’
‘And are you getting any help? That was my biggest, biggest bugbear.’
‘Not as much as I could do with,’ I told her. ‘I’m hoping the school will prove to be my salvation.’
‘From your lips to God’s ears, eh? I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.’
And there was something she could do for me too I realised. ‘You know,’ I said, ‘this laptop could be very helpful in getting him off to school on Monday morning. D’you mind if I hang onto it for a few days – use it as a bit of an incentive?’
‘Oh, of course,’ she said. ‘Go ahead. It’s all yours. I know how difficult he can be about getting into cars. Don’t we all!’
So that was that. I had my power of persuasion right here in a Tesco carrier bag, thanks to the universe – well, and/or Jenny. And knowing it was within his grasp, give or take, Miller even deigned to come down to say hello to his former carer.
And although it was a bit of an awkward exchange, he did seem to be happy to have seen her, and even stayed downstairs for half an hour after she had left to reminisce in his own unique way about how brilliant his time with them had been. I thought back to what I’d been told about him kicking up such a fuss about leaving them, despite having told Jenny, day in, day out, that he couldn’t wait to get away from them, and pushing them to the point that they agreed with him.
What a strange, strange boy. Even though I knew he was throwing in a lot of false memories, listening to him so animated was like listening to a different child; one sharing happy recollections that I knew differed wildly from the reality, but were told with such apparent pleasure and attention to detail that I could almost be convinced they were the real truth. It was almost as if he needed to create these alternative histories in order to locate them in a better place in his head. He was such a puzzle – a jigsaw puzzle that had been thrown on the floor, making it a mammoth task to work out what belonged where.
And where did Miller belong, as a consequence? Was he doomed to keep repeating the same process wherever he went? To destroy and, having done so, to reinvent history so it was more to his liking?
But what kind of future would that lead to? That was the real point. Because there wasn’t much time between twelve and eighteen. And without some radical change, where would he be then?
Chapter 19
Just as I’d hoped, the promise of the laptop proved to be an excellent incentive.
Straight after Jenny had left and before he could escape back to his room again, I showed him the bag and told him what was inside it.
‘But it’s staying with me, Miller, okay? Remember what Mr Hammond said when we visited the school? About rewards having to be earned? Well, Jenny’s brought this round for me to give back to you when you’ve earned it.’
‘You can’t do that,’ he said, at once all spiky and confrontational. ‘That’s my property and you have no right to keep it from me.’
‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘It was confiscated, remember? And when something is confiscated that means it’s no longer yours till you’ve earned the right to have it returned to you.’
‘That’s not true!’ he said, and I could see he was eyeing it with a mind to grabbing it from me.
I tucked the bag under my arm, and smiled. ‘Sorry, but you’re wrong, love. It’s in the social service handbook. I can show you the page, if you like,’ I bluffed. ‘But the main thing is that you really don’t have to do too much to earn it back. Just be a good boy and get up for school in time next week.’ I increased the smile wattage to brighter. ‘And that won’t be too hard, will it? Because it’s such a nice school. And you’re going to have such fun there. I know it’s all very different and scary and new, but if you can manage that for me all next week, then this’ – I patted the bag – ‘will be yours again on Friday evening. So. Do we have a deal?’
‘But –’
‘A deal, Miller? Your choice. Your call.’
‘But –’
‘No buts, Miller. I said Friday.’
‘Wednesday.’
‘No, Friday.’
‘Thursday, then.’
‘No. Friday.’
‘Fine, then!’ he huffed, before stomping back to his room.
‘Good lad,’ I called to his retreating back. Then locked the laptop in the boot of my car.
***
And it worked. Although moody and extremely grumpy, he eventually came downstairs on Monday morning, dressed in his school uniform, which was a big tick on the relief front, but only about five minutes before the taxi was due to arrive. I still didn’t want to count my chickens (so many chickens!), but I remained in a buoyant mood, because it was within the realms of possibility that, in a matter of minutes, I’d have a whole dozen hours to do whatever the heck I wanted. After the virtual house arrest of the last few weeks, freedom was finally becoming close enough to taste.
So I’d patiently ridden the whole ‘down in ten minutes, no, I’ll be down in twelve minutes’ to-ing and fro-ing, and prepared to keep an even temper now he’d finally appeared.
‘Would you like me to brush your hair, love?’ I asked, noticing that he hadn’t done anything with it. He wasn’t so much rocking the ‘dragged through a hedge’ look as ‘dragged behind a horse, for ten furlongs’. His hair, already unruly when he’d come to us, had noticeably grown now, a trip to the barbers, of course, having been impossible.
‘No I don’t,’ Miller replied. ‘If they don’t like me as I am, then so what? I don’t care. They can exclude me if they like. I’m not bothered.’
‘You really could just run a comb through it, Miller,’ I said. ‘What will the school think of me if you go in unkempt? And you do look so smart in your new uniform, too.’
His withering look was all the answer I needed. How much did he care what the school thought of me? Not at all.
‘Well, whatever,’ I said, shrugging. ‘I obviously can’t force you, so if you’re not bothered what your classmates might think, then it’s up to you, love. Anyway, come on, eat something before the taxi comes, please. We’ve only minutes now before it gets here.’
Miller inspected the selection of offerings on the table: an array of fruits, yoghurts, cold meats and toast – all of the things he usually ate. ‘I want cereal,’ he announced.
I bit my tongue, my lovely mood wilting rapidly. He never wanted cereal when it was offered to him. Never. Still, I refused to be agitated.
‘That’s okay then,’ I said. ‘But you’ll have to be quick. We’ve got Rice Krispies, Coco Pops or Weetabix. Choose one, love.’
‘I want porridge.’
‘There’s no time for porridge, Miller. I’ve given you the choices.’
‘But I want porridge. I said cereal. Porridge is cereal.’
This was no time for a game of ping pong about the naming of various food groups. We both knew it. ‘I know that,’ I said. ‘But I’ve told you what’s on offer. Now which is it to be?’
‘I want porridge.’
‘Porridge isn’t an option. Yes, it might have been if you’d come down for breakfast when I asked you. But now it’s not.’
‘Fine. I won’t eat then.’
‘Fine,’ I parroted back. ‘If that’s your choice, so be it, love.’
‘But I can’t go to school on an empty stomach.’
‘Well, actually, if you choose to, you can, Miller. But if you choose not to, then I suggest you either eat a bowl of cereal, or take a cereal bar and a banana to eat on
the way. It’ll be a long time before lunch, remember.’
‘But I want porridge!’
Dear God.
The doorbell buzzed then, and I looked up to see a taxi parked on the street outside. ‘Okay,’ I told Miller. ‘So your lift to school is here now. So it’s cereal bar or nothing. Your call. And pop your shoes on too, please, while I go and answer the door.’
I left Miller huffing and puffing, and went out to do so, to be greeted by a cheerful couple – Chris the driver, and Joan the escort. I hoped their sunny smiles wouldn’t be changed to grimaces too soon. ‘He’ll just be a moment,’ I said. ‘He’s been stalling a bit. But he’s almost ready now. He’s just putting his shoes on.’
‘No worries,’ Chris said. ‘First-day jitters and all that. He’s obviously bound to be a bit nervous.’
At that precise moment, Miller barged a route through all three of us, in his seeming haste to be out of the door and gone. ‘Fine, I’ll go,’ he hissed, ‘and by the way, that laptop is mine. I know the law, and you can’t use that against me. Only the stuff you’ve actually bought. Not my own stuff. That’s got nothing to do with you. You’re a liar!’
He then yanked the door open on the taxi, and hurled himself into the back, slamming the door with such ferocity that it sounded like a gunshot, causing the birds that had been roosting in the nearby trees to flutter into the air.
‘But it’s my bloody internet!’ I muttered.
***
Twelve whole hours, though … Just for me. Twelve solid hours of precious daylight, all to myself. Though, being human, I was still in a state of fraught tension, so I squandered the first half hour just calming down – trying to regain a sense of peace and equilibrium. It had been a long few weeks without much of either, after all.
Progress, with a child, is a bit like a drug. You get exposed to just the tiniest bit and it acts as a reinforcer. Despite knowing that there’s likely to be further stress along the way, just that one hit to the brain’s pleasure centres and you dig in and keep going.
