Breaking the Silence

by Casey Watson

  In the meantime, I wanted to capitalise on Mike’s work down in Wales by taking him as frequently as possible. And he was keen – so much so that when the following Saturday came round, and I mentioned that I was going to the pool with Riley and the little ones, he even chose to join us over football.

  ‘But tell Kieron I’m sorry, an’ it’s only for one week,’ he instructed Mike. ‘It’s just that now that I don’t need my armbands I have to keep practising till I can do a full length. Then next term in school I can get my first stifficate.’ He thought for a moment before adding, with a grin, ‘An’ tell him I’m getting my legs stronger an’ all for footy, so it’s all good. I’ll be even better.’

  Jenson was even happier when I told him that the plan was that we’d all be going to a café for hot dogs and ice creams afterwards.

  And we had a fine time, as you tend to when you know the result of your labours would be a trio of tired and happy children. After a fun hour and a half in the pool, I left the car in the pool car park and we all had a stroll into town for lunch.

  It was one of those cafés where they had an area sectioned off for children, so after getting Jenson and Levi settled at a table with colouring books and pencils I eventually sat down with Riley and Jackson, who had fallen fast asleep in his buggy. It was only then I noticed I had a missed call on my mobile.

  ‘Oh shit!’ I said to Riley. ‘John Fulshaw’s been trying to reach me. I wonder what he wants on a Saturday.’ And I did wonder. John would only call at the weekend if it was something that required either his or my attention.

  ‘Phone him back then,’ Riley said, obviously seeing the concerned look on my face. ‘The boys are otherwise occupied. I’ll keep an eye on things. Go on.’

  I took myself and my phone out into the street and pressed ring back. Would this be news about Jenson, or Georgie, or both?

  ‘Oh hi, Casey,’ he said, answering almost immediately. ‘Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I thought I’d better ring you as soon as I found out.’

  ‘Found out what?’ I asked.

  ‘Found out about the outcome of Karen’s hearing. I couldn’t call last night because it all finished so late. Plus I was out …’

  ‘And the upshot?’

  ‘Is that the kids are going back to her. She’s been charged with wilful neglect, but they’ve agreed they can be returned to her, on condition that she accepts support from social services.’

  So it was pretty much as anticipated. A formal rap on the knuckles, though she’d apparently argued her case pretty strongly, saying that in her opinion her daughter had been perfectly responsible and, aside from that ill-judged party, had cared for Jenson perfectly well.

  But, in the light of so many recent and well-publicised incidents involving unsupervised children, the court had been firm. And I was glad of it. Compared to most of the families I had come into contact with professionally, hers wasn’t that bad, but if what had happened could help in any way to repair the hidden fractures in their relationship, that had to be a good thing for all concerned.

  ‘So when’s it to happen?’ I asked John.

  ‘Pretty much ASAP,’ he answered. ‘Sunday was suggested –’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ It almost felt like a physical sensation.

  ‘But I said no. I had a moment of complete inspiration. I figured Georgie into the equation and remembered what I’d been told about him. And my instinct was that it wouldn’t give you enough time to prepare him for the upheaval. So I said Monday. No sooner. Did I do good, miss?’

  I tried to laugh, but at the same time I felt sadness wash over me. Forget Georgie – it wasn’t enough time to prepare me! I tried hard to swallow the lump in my throat so I could answer, and John must have sensed I wasn’t dealing with it very well.

  ‘It’s okay, Casey,’ he said into the silence. ‘I know it’s a shock. It always is when it’s a case like this, isn’t it? Though, thinking about it, also a bit different from your usual kids, I suppose. Arrived suddenly, gone equally suddenly. Which is unfortunately – or fortunately – something that happens from time to time. They turn up out of the blue, barely have a chance to unpack and then they’re off again before you can say – oh, I don’t know … “behaviour modification programme”.’

  That did raise a laugh. John had a gift for that, sometimes. But only a small laugh. ‘God,’ I said. ‘I am really going to miss him. Something I never thought I’d be saying a few weeks ago.’

  ‘I know. It must be hard. Jenson’s really settled in now, hasn’t he? Look, I’ll get off now and give you the chance to absorb all this and let everyone know. I know it’s Sunday tomorrow but I’ve asked Marie to give you a call in the morning about everything. Ten okay? And could you give me a quick bell so I’m up to speed with the arrangements?’

  I said yes, that was fine and that I would, and then goodbye, and then, still slightly stunned at the suddenness of everything, I fished around in the bottom of my bag for my fake cigarette. It was at times like this I was grateful I always carried it around with me, otherwise I’m sure I’d have gone straight to the nearest shop to buy some of the real ones. However intense the moment, I really didn’t want that. Get over yourself, Casey, I told myself. This is the way it works. They come, they go again. Shouldn’t I be getting used to it by now?

  I could see Riley looking out for me from her table so I went back inside and told her the news. We both looked over at Jenson as I did so, at the natural and familiar way he now played with Levi, and I felt so sad that he had lost his little sister. He was such a good big brother; so gentle and attentive. And if I was seeing him through a filter of sentimentality, then so be it. It was thinking this that I realised that it wasn’t just that you never got used to a child going – there was an extra layer of feeling here. Shock, perhaps, because I never expected to feel like this? Plus was I compensating now for how poorly I understood him at the beginning? I didn’t know. It was always tough when a child had to leave, but I honestly had thought that I hadn’t been so attached to Jenson. After all it had only been weeks, rather than many months, that he’d been with us. Yet here I was, feeling bereft. Wrong again.

  If I felt sorry for myself, I should perhaps have given more thought to how Georgie would cope with the news. When I sat down and told the pair of them, at teatime that same afternoon, the poor lad looked completely confused. I knew he was upset, but I hadn’t figured on just how difficult he’d find it to process it. We had no freak-outs; he was just so, well, troubled. While Jenson, naturally, was overjoyed to be seeing his mum again, Georgie spent the rest of the weekend wringing his hands together, walking around the house, head bent, with a painful expression on his face, muttering, ‘Jenson going home. Jenson going away.’ He also kept going upstairs without warning and spending minutes at a time just staring at Jenson’s photograph on the bathroom door. And every time one of us approached him, he would just look at us in confusion. ‘This is where Jenson stays,’ he kept repeating. ‘That’s his picture.’

  I could have cried to see the state he was in, and, try as we might, we simply couldn’t make him understand. By late Saturday night, when he couldn’t settle down to sleep, I did wonder if I should ask for him to be put into respite for a couple of days to save him the anguish of the actual parting.

  But when I phoned my Georgie lifeline, Sylvia, she asked me not to do this. ‘This is real life, Casey,’ she explained, with her usual wisdom. ‘We never wanted Georgie to be institutionalised. I know he was living in one, so it might seem contradictory, but we always knew it wouldn’t help him when the time came for him to leave us, so we tried to expose him to reality as much as we could. He needs to experience loss just as much as any other kid. I know you want to protect him from it, but it’s inevitable, isn’t it?’

  She was right, of course, and, reassured now, I decided to stick with it. We’d just have to deal with the aftermath when it came about. Georgie did need to learn how to grow up as normally as possible – after all,
he wouldn’t be going back into a children’s home when he left us. He’d be living with a normal foster family. Perhaps it was me who needed to man up – and let him take a few knocks along the way.

  Marie phoned at ten on Sunday morning, as promised, and told me she would be driving Karen over to our house to pick Jenson up the next day.

  ‘At around 11 a.m., if that’s okay with you, so we can have them home by midday. Carley’s foster parents are taking her home after lunch.’

  I then phoned Riley and Kieron to invite them for Sunday lunch at our place so that the kids could spend a final day with Jenson. And it was a good plan: the afternoon was happy and uncomplicated, and the kids even bought Jenson leaving presents, bless them. From Riley and David there was another game for his beloved DS console, and from Kieron and Lauren a football shirt with his name emblazoned across the back.

  He couldn’t have been more excited. ‘This is epic!’ he exclaimed, with his usual understatement, before dashing upstairs to his bedroom and returning in full football regalia, complete with the floor-destroying studded boots.

  But I didn’t want to spoil the mood by carping on about it; my floors could cope with a few more scratches, I decided. Which was not the sort of thought I had that often, to be sure.

  ‘Thanks, Kieron,’ Jenson said shyly, once he’d finished hugging everyone. ‘An’ I was thinking. I don’t live that far away, you know. So if it’s okay with you I want to play in your junior team for real. You know, like every week. Properly, you’re the best manager ever, an’ I’ll score loads of goals for us, I promise.’

  I made another mental note to pass on this information to Karen’s social worker. This was exactly the sort of parental commitment social services would be keen to promote. Kieron was busy wiping his eyes – the big softie. ‘Course you can, mate,’ he said, clearing the frog in his throat. ‘You’re already our lucky mascot. And if you keep it up you could become be our number one striker, as well!’

  Even in the midst of this, Georgie seemed to be settling. Not wishing him to feel left out, Riley had bought him some Doctor Who figures, and he was engrossed within minutes of her giving them to him – setting a scene on the coffee table and speaking for each of his figures in turn, and even interacting in ways we had barely seen so far, chasing the little ones around the table with the silver Dalek figure and saying ‘Exterminate’ in his best scary voice.

  We couldn’t put off the inevitable, however, and, before I knew it, Monday morning was upon us. Jenson was quiet at breakfast, and when I went upstairs a bit later to help him finish packing, it was to find him staring out of his bedroom window. He turned as he heard me come in and I noticed he’d been crying.

  ‘Saying goodbye’s sad, isn’t it, love?’ I said, as I went and sat down on his bed. I patted the space beside me and he came and sat down himself, snuggling closer as I put my arm around him.

  ‘It’s like it’s not real,’ he said. ‘It’s like I’ve been here all this time and it feels like for ever. An’ I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss all of you.’

  ‘We’ll all miss you too, baby,’ I said, struggling with my own composure now. ‘More than anything. We’ve loved having you here. It’s been epic.’

  I sensed his smile. ‘Casey, would you explain to Mum about me swimming? I want to keep going so bad, but not if it gets her all upset.’

  ‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell her, love, and about your football too. I bet she’s really proud of you. In fact, I know she is.’

  He looked up at me. ‘How d’you know that?’

  ‘Because I’m a mum,’ I said. ‘And there are some things that mums know all mums think and feel. Trust me on that, okay?’

  Which was a platitude, I knew, but an acceptable one, surely? ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘okay, but …’ he faltered. ‘You know Sammy?’ Now it was me nodding. ‘I couldn’t help what happened to our Sammy, Casey,’ he whispered. ‘I swear it, I didn’t know. I can’t even really remember what happened. It’s like it’s gone …’

  ‘You know, Jenson,’ I said, squeezing his upper arm for emphasis, ‘what happened that day – whatever happened – that day was definitely not your fault. You weren’t much more than a baby yourself – you were only 5, love. And a lot of years have passed since then. These things take time, but I’m sure your mummy realises that it had nothing to do with you. And if she’s grumpy, try to remember that she’s not grumpy at you. It just hurts her to think about losing her baby, that’s all. It’s not you, I promise. Will you remember that?’

  And all power to the social worker’s elbow, I thought. Now they knew there was a problem, they could start to fix it.

  By the time the car pulled up, Jenson was waiting at the front door with his new suitcase and proudly clutching his beloved ‘stifficate’ in his hand. ‘They’re here! They’re here!’ he whooped and shouted through the hall.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ I said to Georgie, who was in the living room, studiously watching his beloved Countdown. That would be some challenge if they ever took it off air. ‘Let’s go say goodbye to Jenson, shall we?’ I urged. ‘He’s going home now to be with his mummy. You remember me telling you about that happening, don’t you?’

  Mike had taken the morning off work and we could both see out of the window that he was now lugging Jenson’s heavy case out to the gate. Georgie stood up and then made a sudden bolt for the stairs. Oh well, I thought, I can’t force him to face this if he doesn’t want to. I left him to it, and, plastering a polite smile on my face, went and joined Mike and Jenson in the front garden.

  As people usually do, I had formed a mental picture of Karen but, as people usually find, seeing her in the flesh completely dispelled it. I don’t think I’d been prepared for quite how much she looked like Jenson, or how young she seemed, or how vulnerable looking. But mostly how much her dead baby sprang to mind, and how my heart went its own way and went out to her.

  She was very nervous, to the point that her hands were trembling as she shook ours. ‘Thank you, so much,’ she said shyly, ‘… for all you’ve done for him and everything. He thinks a lot about you, so … thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said warmly, ‘you really are. ‘It’s been a joy to have him. He’s no angel, but he’s a lovely little kid, he really is.’ I grinned across at Jenson, over at the car, with Mike and Marie, busy loading it. I watched as he shoved the green holdall he’d come with into the luggage space above the back seats. Where had the time gone? It suddenly felt like yesterday. ‘Look,’ I added, ‘I don’t know if you knew, but when we took him to Wales on holiday Mike taught him how to swim. He’s really good at it, too, and wants to know if he can keep it up.’

  There. I’d said it. And it had struck a definite chord. That was clear. Karen looked directly at me. ‘I suppose you know what happened to my little girl, don’t you?’ I nodded. ‘So you can … well …’ she shrugged. ‘I’m sure you probably understand why I’ve never, well …’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said quickly. ‘Of course I do. But he loves it.’ Now it was my turn to look at Karen pointedly. ‘And it’s done wonders for his confidence, and he really wants to keep it going. And maybe you could also … I don’t know …’

  ‘I know,’ she said, nodding. ‘And I’ll try. Honest I will.’

  Which had to be sufficient. It was work that could be continued by the social worker. Right now they had to head off. I could see Marie looking at her watch.

  Jenson, however, was disappearing back into the house again. ‘Jenson, love,’ I called to him. It’s time to get going …’

  He turned. ‘But where’s Georgie? I have to say goodbye to Georgie.’

  ‘Georgie is here,’ said a voice from behind the front door.

  ‘Come on then, you div!’ Jenson laughed. ‘’Cos I’m heading off now. You gotta come out an wave an’ that,’ he said, pulling a reluctant Georgie out through the door.

  ‘Present,’ Georgie said, and at first I thought he meant he w
as present. But no, in his hand he had his own gift for Jenson. He opened his palm. It was a silver-grey, highly polished stone. ‘A for ever stone for Georgie’s for ever brother Jenson,’ he said solemnly.

  I could see Karen watching this exchange with some confusion. Which was a measure, I decided, of quite how far Jenson had come. This was now his normal, which could never, ever be a bad thing. Nor could what he did next, which was to fling his arms round a startled Georgie, and, while his for ever brother stiffened like a board, gave him a bear hug. And when he released him I thought I could see tears in Georgie’s eyes.

  ‘Thanks, bro,’ he said, patting him. ‘See you at school, mate, okay?’

  And with that – and I could see that he didn’t want to prolong the agony – Jenson ran to the car, jumped in and slammed the door.

  The car had begun to disappear in seconds, leaving me with one clear impression to hang on to: of that luminous, bilious green holdall. I gulped a few times, and automatically put my arm around Georgie. But he was having none of it – he’d clearly had enough manhandling for one day. So while he went indoors Mike and I formed the small farewell party, waving and smiling as the car headed off down the road.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ I sniffled, ‘I’m an emotional wreck, I really am. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.’

  ‘Well, you better brace yourself, love,’ he said, as we followed Georgie inside. ‘One down. Still another one to go.’