by Casey Watson
‘Wow!’ I said. ‘Sounds like you really got along with her, and, gosh, she must have a huge house. And land as well! Fancy that! Did you have something to eat there? Are you hungry?’
‘It’s not a house, Casey. It’s a mansion, and it’s miles bigger than yours. The bathroom is miles bigger than yours too, and guess what? I have an en-suite in my new bedroom’ – or ‘in suite’, as he put it – ‘and if I’m good she says I can have a TV in there too. I told her – hah! What’s not to be good about? D’oh. She’s like a real foster carer. A proper one. And, as well, no offence, but she’s loads older than you are, so she’s much more experienced. So it’s not your fault,’ he added soothingly.
It? As in what? As in everything, I imagined. And I wondered what Mavis might have to say about his estimation of our respective ages.
It made me smile at least. And provoked a highly unlikely phrase to spring to mind. One that Libby would have approved of. The little … monkey.
Chapter 21
As thrilled as Miller had been with his first visit to the wonderful Mavis, and the look he had given me as he had been, as he’d put it, ‘packed off’, the things I’d said to him beforehand clearly hadn’t sunk in. But perhaps that was it. That he couldn’t seem to help it. He said he’d make me pay, and he was going to.
After a mostly bedroom-based Monday, at around ten on the Tuesday morning, he came down to the living room in his Batman pyjamas. ‘Phone Mavis,’ he demanded. ‘I want to speak to her.’
I was sitting with my laptop on my knees, dealing with emails. ‘Why, love?’ I asked. ‘Is it something important? Because you’ll be seeing her in just a few days now.’
‘I just want to speak to her, and it’s private,’ he said. ‘Why do you always have to make everything so awkward?’
‘Well, I’ll try and ring her in a minute or two,’ I said. ‘I just need to finish sending this report first. I won’t be long.’
‘Oh my God!’ he yelled, instantly firing up on both cylinders. ‘You don’t want me to speak to her, do you? Phone her, phone her, phone her, go on, phone her, phone her now, you can still write your stupid email, just phone her, go on, phone her.’
‘For God’s sake, Miller!’ I snapped back. ‘I said give me a minute, and I mean give me a minute. Now go wait somewhere else please, while I finish this, or I won’t phone her at all.’
But he clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Before I could stop him, he lunged forwards and swept my laptop clean off of my knees, the power lead pinging out of it as it landed on the floor. I leapt up and picked it up, checking it was still on, then turned on him, silently cursing. ‘What the hell are you doing, Miller? This laptop cost a lot of money and you’ve been told about messing with other people’s things. How dare you!’
‘So, phone her then,’ he said, grinning right in my face. ‘If you just listened instead of thinking you know best all the time, that’ – he poked a finger at it – ‘wouldn’t have happened.’
I took a deep breath, not sure whether I wanted to cry or to scream at him, and when I had composed myself I looked him squarely in the face. ‘Get up to your room, Miller. Now. Think hard about what just happened here. And I’m sure you’ll be able to work out why I will not be phoning Mavis today. Go!’
Something in my voice must have touched a nerve with him because, though he didn’t say a word, he just stood there and stared, before finally turning around and stomping back upstairs. He then slammed his bedroom door hard enough to make the house shake, but I was in no mood to race up there after him. I closed my laptop down and sat on the sofa for a full five or ten minutes before I felt able to get back up and do something. I didn’t know why, but I was shaking. Was it anger or fear? I realised that actually it was fear. There had been something different in his eyes, only fleeting, but definite. As if he was considering attacking me before he ran off. Fight or flight. Thank goodness flight had held sway.
And something else. For the first time ever, I think, I was actually afraid of one of our foster children. And that wasn’t a nice thought at all. I went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle, reminding myself that we didn’t have long to go before we would get a whole weekend free from stress. Free from feeling constantly wired and wondering when the next attack would be. And, increasingly, what form it might take.
It was no better the next day, when I’d decamped into the garden, and, unusually, Miller had dressed himself and come out there as well, to kick a ball around – though where ‘around’, it soon became clear, meant ‘at me’. I tried first to engage him. ‘Shall we have a kick about together, love?’ And when that was rebuffed, with a ‘nope’, to ignore him. As in both the ball, which kept banging against my shins, and the attendant ‘oops, sorry’ non-apologies.
Finally, I lowered the book I’d been trying to read. ‘I wouldn’t bother, love,’ I said, after he’d kicked at my leg for the fifth time. ‘I’m tougher than I look. Just be careful kicking that ball near the flowers please.’
Which was obviously an idiotic thing to say to him. The minute I’d said it, I knew that my flowers would be next, and, sure enough, my rose bush was the next casualty of the amazing straying football.
Now I put my book down on the table. ‘Well, obviously the garden isn’t big enough for you and your football,’ I said evenly. ‘So I tell you what. Why don’t you and I take a walk down to the park with it?’
‘Yeah, as if …’ he began.
‘Or it goes back in the shed, please. Before we have any more “accidents”.’
‘Why should I?’ he asked, shoving the ball under his arm. ‘It’s not my fault you have such a crappy little garden. Why should I stop having fun just because of that?’
‘I’m not about to have an argument with you, Miller,’ I told him. ‘I’m simply telling you, no more football in this garden today. And if you don’t want to come to the park with me, there’s a lovely big field at the bottom of the street. You can go play on that if you like.’
‘Oh yeah, right!’ Miller said. ‘Like, where all the bullies play? No thanks. I know why you want me to go down there. Just so I’ll get beaten up.’
‘What bullies, Miller? Who are these bullies you speak of? As far as I can remember, you’ve not even been down there. Not once. So, do you want to come to the park then?’ I said. Keep trying, Case, keep trying.
He looked as if I’d just suggested taking him for another spin around my favourite dress shop. ‘No! Oh my God. I can’t wait till I get my weekend leave. It’ll be like getting out of prison!’
He huffed off then, lobbing the ball onto the patio as he went, and I was tempted to shout, ‘You and me both, kiddo!’ Instead I ignored the temptation and took a few deep breaths. Two more days, Casey, I told myself. Just two more days. And those forty-eight hours couldn’t go fast enough.
I’d just got back into my book when the phone rang.
‘Speak of the devil,’ I said, when Mavis introduced herself. ‘Your ears must have been burning for a minute there.’
I’d tried to call her on the Monday, for a debrief after Miller’s initial visit, but had had to leave a voicemail, so, given that it was now Wednesday, it was extremely good to hear her voice. Despite having no reason to – not via either Miller himself or Libby – I was still harbouring a fear that it might yet not happen. That, like Helping Hands Sheila, she had had second thoughts.
But not a bit of it. She told me she’d chuckled at my message. That yes, she indeed had a pond, and ducks and chickens. But that no, she didn’t live in a mansion, with acres of land.
‘I wish, but not quite!’ she said, laughing. ‘But at least it’s good to know the lad has an imagination. And sorry to be so slow coming back to you, by the way. I’ve been off away at a dog show. I have dogs.’
‘So I hear. Three – wow, that must keep you pretty busy!’
‘Not as busy as a certain young man is keeping you, I hear.’
‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Well, I can’t deny
that I’m looking forward to a couple of days off duty. We’ve not had the best week. He’s been sticky to cope with,’ I added, looking out into the broken roses in my garden. ‘Argumentative. Antagonistic.’ There was no point in sugaring the pill here, after all. ‘I hope he’s not going to run you ragged.’
‘Takes a lot to run me ragged,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent years wrangling with grown men with a far worse attitude, remember. So don’t you worry about that. And I’m all genned up. Quite the back story, poor lad.’
‘I just wish I could tell you we’d managed to make any progress. I can’t even quite believe I’m in this situation with a child, to be honest. It’s a first for me. It doesn’t feel good, as you can imagine.’
‘Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself. Christine’s filled me in and I totally understand why you’d feel so frazzled. I’m just glad I can step in and help. Get my teeth into him, so to speak.’
She sounded like she had the teeth for it, too. Perhaps Mike’s description wasn’t that far off the mark.
‘That’s reassuring to know,’ I said. ‘I just wish I could make more progress with him myself. He’s just so angry all the time. Mostly with me, sadly. One thing I can tell you, at least – he definitely can’t wait to get away from me.’
‘Oh, I’ll bet,’ she said. ‘But you know – and I got this impression last week – it’s just his emotions getting the better of him, that’s all. I’ve seen it before. Often, when they’re ambushed by unfamiliar feelings, they fall back on the emotions that they’re used to. Anger, defensiveness , rage – anything that makes sense to them, really. Anything better than accepting that they’re vulnerable. Odd and difficult for us to witness of course, but quite acceptable for them.’
She sounded like a very wise woman, I thought. ‘That does make sense,’ I admitted.
‘It should,’ she continued. ‘It may be that Miller might be feeling that he’s going to miss you, or that he’s afraid you really won’t want him back. Dealing with those thoughts is probably far too complicated for him so he reacts with what he knows. What he does best. Unfortunately, you’re bearing the brunt of it. Sorry.’ She laughed. ‘I’m teaching my granny to suck eggs, aren’t I?’
No, I thought, you’re not. You’re counselling me, actually. Because when exactly had I lost the ability to calmly analyse a Miller situation in that way? I really couldn’t seem to see the wood for the trees these days, could I? Because here I was, feeling stupid, listening to an older woman giving me the explanations I should have been able to give myself.
‘Not at all,’ I said, grateful for her sage words. ‘Thank you, Mavis. It makes so much more sense when a third party provides the clarity that’s been evading me.’
‘Oh please don’t beat yourself up,’ she said. ‘I’ve worked with children like Miller for a while now, and I know how easy it is to be sucked into the here and now and then everything else, including the obvious, gets lost somewhere down the line. I’ve done it and worn the T-shirt, believe me. A step back – or in your case, a weekend every fortnight – might just be all that’s needed to take stock and regroup. You’ll see.’
Mavis was right. A mini break every so often would give me the opportunity to take a breath, forget all the nonsense and recharge my batteries. I’d be ready to face whatever was coming with renewed vigour after a weekend away from it all. That’s what I told myself, anyway. And I was determined that’s the way it would be. Or, at least, could be.
***
That Friday afternoon, for the first time in what seemed like ages, I switched on my radio and tuned it into my favourite oldies station, and sang along while I ironed and packed a little suitcase for Miller. I’d even bought him new pyjamas and slippers to pop in there.
‘Anything you’d like me to pack in particular, love?’ I called into the kitchen where he was sitting playing on his laptop while he ate his porridge. ‘A favourite story book or something?’
‘I’m not five,’ came the reply. ‘And I don’t care what you pack. What time is the driver coming?’
‘About an hour,’ I called back, ‘so make sure you’re ready. I think Mavis has plans for taking you and one of the dogs to a lake or something, for a picnic.’
I heard a groan. Then, ‘God, I’m not five,’ again.
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t let it bother me. In an hour’s time, this ball of worry tumbling around in my stomach would be gone, and I could once again relax.
I heard him head back up the stairs then, and finished packing the case. I was just putting it by the front door when he came back downstairs, dressed and ready, and with his PlayStation under his arm.
‘Love, I don’t think you’ll have time to be on that,’ I said. ‘Mavis has lots planned this weekend, and besides didn’t you say there wasn’t a TV in your room?’
Miller shrugged. ‘She said she was gonna get one if I was good, and I told her I’m gonna be good, so …’
I sighed. It was almost time for the taxi to arrive – was it really worth getting into it at this stage? Miller would probably kick off and refuse to go unless he got his own way. On the other hand, it was a bit of a cop-out me letting him take it and then leaving it to Mavis to deal with. I decided I had to at least try again.
‘Look, love, why don’t you leave it for this weekend, and see how things go, and then you can definitely arrange to take it the next time.’
‘I want to take it!’ Miller snapped. ‘What if she hates me and makes me stay in my room all weekend? And, as well, what if I hate her and don’t want to do what she wants to do? Least I’ll have my gamer friends to talk to.’
I thought back to what Mavis had said about how Miller might be really worrying about going away, and I made the decision that I’d allow him to take it, but phone Mavis to explain after he’d set off. I knew it meant I’d still be leaving it down to her to sort out, and I felt bad, but I had a feeling she was resilient enough to deal with it.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Take it, but don’t be surprised if there isn’t a TV yet. She can’t just magic one up instantly you know.’
‘So you say. But she will. You don’t know anything.’
***
I had thought, at least for the preceding hour, if not longer, that the first thing I’d do when I saw the car turn the corner would be to punch the air. Yet he’d turned as they’d driven off, and actually waved. And again, despite the fraught few days we’d had, there was something about his expression that caused me to dampen my desire to do so. He looked so sad, and something else, as well, now – resigned. As though the fight had gone out of him. As though leaving places with a suitcase in hand was something he would just have to get used to. Rather than the euphoria I thought I’d be feeling at this moment, I just felt incredibly sad that it had come to this. I was past the point of admitting to myself that I couldn’t manage this kid without regular breaks. That was already true; that was why we had arrived here. No, it was that horrible sense that I was a whisker away from failure. That, no matter what they threw at this, including the warm, sagacious Mavis, I simply didn’t have the heart for it. That at some point, if not this point, I would be forced to accept defeat. Take my place on the long list of carers who’d given up on him. Passed him along.
It wasn’t a nice revelation.
Chapter 22
I had watched the car pull up that Sunday afternoon braced for whatever was coming. My hope was that Miller would be somehow miraculously different. That he’d arrive full of stories about what a great time he’d had. And that the next two (long) weeks would be better. My fear was that I was living in cloud cuckoo land. That whether he’d had a good time or a bad time, the net result would be the same. Miller would still feel rejected by me – still struggle to adapt to his new reality.
And I’d been right to be fearful, because he was sullen and uncommunicative. Whether to punish me for what I’d ‘done to him’, or because he was genuinely happier with Mavis, it made no difference. Apart from telling me, sarkil
y, that he did have the promised TV, he seemed keen to shut me out of the whole experience. ‘It’s none of your business what I do there,’ had been his last word on the subject. And, of course, I agonised because the guilt was so acute, made worse that my resentment levels were already so high. I felt isolated from my family, and I felt shut out by him as well now. It was hard to get past that, however hard I tried.
***
But if my next ‘get out of jail free’ card was a long two weeks’ distant, there had at least, on the Tuesday, been some good news. The best news, in fact. That Tyler was going to come home. This very night, in fact, after a trip to the zoo with Dee Dee.
I’d phoned him the previous evening, as had become my recent habit – more than anything just to check if he’d heard back yet about his college place. I’d also waxed lyrical about Mavis, and what a difference she was making. To me, anyway, which was at least something, even if, Miller-wise, it was still an unfinished story.
‘That’s great, Mum,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll get packing then, shall I?’
‘You mean you’re coming back?’
‘If that’s okay …’
‘Shut UP! When – today?’
‘Tonight. After my babysitting duties. Love her to bits but, God, three-year-olds are full on. Dealing with Miller’s going to seem like a walk in the park now.’
***
I wasn’t so sure about that. But it was now late morning on Wednesday, and I had things to do. ‘Miller,’ I pleaded as I leaned on his bedroom door frame, ‘will you please get dressed and come down so we can get to the shops?’ It was already 11.30 a.m. and I’d been trying to get him downstairs for the last hour, because I really did need to get out. For a start, I was out of coffee, and that was unthinkable for me. Even Mike would testify that it was actually dangerous to leave me without coffee for any length of time. I also needed a few other essentials before Tyler arrived back tonight, so, one way or another, I had to hit the shops today.
