by Louise Beech
Back at the car Mum is still sitting there. She’s like a black shadow with all the lights behind her. Paul doesn’t seem to know what to do now. He tells me to get into the back of the car this time. Through the open door he tells Mum to stay with me for a bit, cos he needs to think. Then he walks off up this narrow pier with water splashing on all the sides, his legs all slow and swingy.
This is the first time in my whole life I’ve sat on my own with Mum. Like without social workers or Len or some knobhead with a folder. None of that crappy supervision stuff. I’ve waited so long for it to be just us two. When I imagined it though it definitely wasn’t like this. I thought maybe we’d be at her house and I’d be like fifteen or something.
I used to pretend that one morning I’d get up and she’d be in Anne’s lounge having a cup of tea with her. And she’d say, I’ve come for you. I’m better. I’ve bought this really nice house by the sea. And your dad is going to be there too. He’s this really nice mister and he wants to make it up to you.
Now I try and think of all the stuff I’ve ever wanted to say to her. All the questions I think of at school and then forget to write down cos Stan does my head in. All the things I get chuffed about, like doing good in Art.
But none of it’s in my head. My head is just totally empty. I try and think of how Sophie is with her mum. She’s just natural. They act normal. Sophie’s mum doesn’t sit real stiff. Sophie’s mum has lots of words. They argue but in the way you do when you love each other. Sophie’s mum is just there. Wish I could ring Sophie and talk to her right now. She’d know exactly what to do.
All I can think to ask Mum is why she didn’t come with me to Hull Fair last year. She shrugs and says she doesn’t remember. You’d think she’d know how to be. She’s got Kayleigh. It’s not like she hasn’t been around kids. I ask if she’ll take me this year and she looks at me then. She says they probably won’t let her. I tell her she could try harder. I don’t mean to talk so bad to her but I can’t help it. I’ve got all this thick black stuff churning around inside me.
Mum still has her arms crossed. I read this book about being a detective once and it said body language is important. I always watch it anyway. I see everything. She is either mad or she’s hiding something.
Then she says, I don’t know why he came tonight.
She’s talking about Paul. She says, All these years and now he shows up. So I ask how they know each other.
A firework suddenly lights up all the sky in red and yellow. It’s far away across the river I reckon. I wonder if it’s a party or a really early Bonfire Night thing. It’s reflected in the river. Like twins.
Mum starts to cry. Now I feel real bad. I tell her I didn’t mean to be unkind and sort of pat her arm. The sleeve is all fluffy and soft. I don’t know how to hug her though. Mum shakes her head and sniffs and says it isn’t me. I bet it is. Adults lie. I want to tell her that I’m real glad we got to be on our own together. Tell her I’ve saved up so she can go on holiday next year.
But she says that she’s sorry for not being there. Sorry she never told me anything about my dad when she could have.
Now I want to cry. But I don’t. I have to be the man.
She says she needs to talk to Paul for a bit on their own and then they will talk to me.
When she opens the car door, cold wind comes in. She kind of gasps and then she slams the door. I watch her walk along the pier to where Paul went until she disappears.
It seems really quiet now. Not sure what to do.
What time is it? Five past nine. I wonder what time Paul told Anne I’d be back? Will she be worried now? I hope she still kept my tea. My belly’s really rumbling now. The best time of day is just after tea when we sit and watch Deal or No Deal together. Anne always says deal because eight thousand is a load of money but I always say no deal cos I’m braver.
Muhammad Ali would never deal.
There’s an ice-cream-coloured phone box just up the road. Got change in my pocket but it’s just notes and one quid and two pence. Could only call one person probably. Have to be Sophie. Wouldn’t take long. Could just run and do it quick now. Adults always take forever talking about serious stuff.
Real nervous, I get out the car. Don’t want Paul being cross at me.
The phone box stinks of piss. I push my quid into the slot and dial Sophie’s number. It rings for a long time and I wonder suddenly if she’s gone to bed. Does she go at nine? I have to on a school night. Anne says the stuff on TV after nine isn’t for my eyes.
Then someone picks up. Sophie’s mum.
Not sure whether to speak.
She says hello and hello. Then she pauses and says, Conor, is that you? I feel kind of guilty for standing there in the dark and not answering. She’s nice Sophie’s mum. She says, Conor, if that’s you just tell us where you are. You won’t be in trouble. They just want you to come home. Please talk to me.
Why would I be in trouble anyway? Paul told Anne where I am. Paul knows Anne cos he talked to her. He knows Mum. Did he lie? Real quick I put the phone down. Feel sick now. Like you do when you’ve nicked goodies from the corner shop and you’re walking away thinking they’re gonna get you any minute.
I go back to the car and sit in the front this time. The fireworks have stopped and the sky’s all black again like the paper we use in Art. Sophie’s mum said they just want me to go home. Does that mean Anne’s worried then? I don’t have no more change to ring and tell her I’m okay.
Could I find my way from here? It might be totally miles. Maybe I should just sit tight and when Paul and Mum come back I’ll tell them I absolutely have to go now. I can’t wait for them to tell me everything anymore.
It’s nine twenty-five now. They’ve been gone a long time. Especially Paul. Wish I could see them out on that pier but it’s too dark. Don’t like it when people don’t come back. It’s just not fair to promise a person you will and then you don’t. I’ll never do that to anyone.
The car isn’t warm anymore. Getting bloody cold now. Only got my thin jacket on. Anne said on October the first I have to start wearing my big coat for school. How long should I wait here before I do anything? What will I do if they just don’t come back?
I remember one time when I lived with this woman called Toni and I woke up one night and I was all on my own. Dunno how old I was. Maybe four. Had this toy cat called Blackie. I was a big weed then and had to have it with me all the time. Don’t need it now of course. Anyway I went looking for Toni I remember, up and down the street. Some policeman got me. I never went back to Toni’s. It was all big drama and stuff.
But no one ever asked me what it’s like when someone never comes back. I can tell you exactly what it’s like. It makes you put half your feelings in this made-up box and lock it up. So I do like Anne loads but not totals. Cos if I do she won’t come back. I know it. But I wouldn’t ever tell her this cos she’s nice and she’s been so kind to me.
The only person I’ve ever given the whole box to is Bernadette and that’s cos every single time she goes away in that taxi she comes back two weeks later. She’s like one of those Frisbee things me and Sophie play with in the field near her house. Even if I don’t always catch it, it always comes my way.
Bernadette always comes back.
And I know in my heart that she always will.
I decide I’ll draw for a bit and if no one comes in that time I’m gonna have to go and look for Paul and Mum. I find another sheet of paper in Paul’s laptop bag and close my eyes and sketch. It’s always amazing how quickly I feel better with a pen in my hand. The whole world goes away.
Now he’s gone I can draw Paul. The sound of the pen on the paper makes me shiver a bit. Always does. Sometimes it’s like I don’t even do the drawing myself. It’s like someone gets hold of my hand and does it for me. Never takes long. Shade dark and light. Sketch lines and contours. Put the special marks and stuff in the right place.
Paul’s face looks back at me. I think I got the hair
just right but maybe his eyes are wider. I put it on the back seat with the ones of Bernadette and Anne and Sophie. Maybe he’ll want to keep it too.
Okay, now it’s nearly ten and they’re not back. Something’s happened. Something real bad. Story of my bloody life. And if I don’t go and find them I’ll have to raise the alarm like Anne always tells me to, and then I reckon we’re all going to be in big trouble.
I wish everyone would just go and find themselves for a change.
29
The Book
Hull Social Services Report Tracy Fenton (Social Worker)
Home visit: to assess recent change of placement
Name: Conor Jordan Date: 09/01/2007
I visited Conor at foster carer Georgina Caine’s home. Conor appeared to have grown in height and had a healthy appearance with clear skin and eyes. Mrs Caine said he is eating and sleeping better now, and gets on with her older teen son Mark.
I spoke to Conor alone in his bedroom while playing several games, and then to Conor and Mrs Caine together in the lounge. The following is what was discussed. Conor was happy to share his feelings but got agitated when his mum was discussed.
Access
Mrs Caine reported that Conor’s first supervised access with his mother, Frances, had occurred the week before, on 3rd January, but had not gone well. The access supervisor Craig collected Conor from school and then supervised access at the social services office in Doncaster, where Frances was waiting. Frances does not have a secure home – she is staying with her brother Andrew. Due to Andrew’s circumstances the place is not suitable for a child. Conor stated that he was excited to see his mother and maybe one day, in the future, his two brothers, Sam and George. Once together, Conor was reluctant to engage with his mother and showed signs of stress. Frances failed to engage in any way either, despite Craig trying to mediate. Conor tore up the drawing paper in the room and ignored both Craig and his mother for the remainder of the hour. Frances cried, which distressed him further. When the session was over Conor didn’t want to talk about it. Back home Mrs Caine reports that he didn’t sleep and refused his evening meal. This is rare, she said. After discussion with Frances and Mrs Caine it has been decided to postpone further access until Conor is ready.
Schooling
Conor said he doesn’t like schoolwork, and finds reading and maths hard, but enjoys art and playing with his friends at lunchtime. His ‘main’ friend is a girl called Sophie, though he stressed that he has ‘lots and lots’ of other mates too. Mrs Caine reported that Conor’s teacher informed her last week that he won’t concentrate in class and has been moved to a desk nearer the front. Mrs Caine will follow this up to see whether this improves the situation. There was an incident during school break where some older boys pulled Conor’s trousers down to show everyone the scars on his legs. This was dealt with; the parents of those concerned were invited into school, and Conor appears not to have let the incident ruin his playtime.
Home
Mrs Caine reported that they have not had any particular issues with Conor and he has settled into their family well, thriving off the routine and enjoying particularly the company of their teen son Mark. It took a while for him to allow anyone to touch him in an affectionate way but he permits it now. He still needs his black-and-white stuffed cat (he calls it Blackie) at night. We discussed the possibility that this may be a ‘honeymoon’ period and Mrs Caine said she had given thought to this.
When I spoke with Conor alone he reiterated that he is happy living with the Caine family and especially likes Mark, their teen son. He joyfully spoke of time with him, watching sports videos and taking the pet dog Shana for walks. The teen boy appears to be fond of Conor, too.
In response to a letter from Conor’s art teacher, Mrs Caine tries to make sure Conor has plenty of art materials. She reports that now and again Conor wets the bed and is embarrassed. He tends to get clingy at night and likes someone to sit with him until he goes to sleep. Mark often does this, watching DVDs with him.
Assessment
Conor appears to have settled into his new placement well and was able to identify positive aspects about living with the Caine family. Conor and Mrs Caine were observed to have a warm relationship, where Mrs Caine put her arm around Conor on one occasion. Physically Conor looked very well. Some difficulties with his concentration at school have been identified and the occasional bedwetting has been discussed with a doctor, who suggested a star chart. Conor is settled and thriving.
*Note from Frances Jordan (birth mum) after first access meeting with Conor
04/01/07
To Conor,
I am glad we was aloud to meet but am sad it didnt go very well. It was hard cos I dont know you. When you know someone properly you know what to do when they are feeling upset and that. I think you are mad at me and I understand. Id be mad at me if I was you. I have let you down. I was hopin we could be friends. I had got a teddy bear for you but I will maybe give you it another time or let your social workers have it. Your such a cute boy and you look lots like my brother Andrew did way back when he was little. That made me want to cry. I hope there is a next time and you can forgive me.
Your Mum xxx
*Letter from Mark Caine, seventeen-year-old son of current foster carer.
18th March 2007
Hi Conor,
They said I can write a letter for your Lifebook. I looked through it too. Wow you have been through some stuff. Makes me sad kinda. Cos your my little mate. You deserve a lot better. You deserve to have a proper mum and to know your dad. I admit at first I was annoyed when Mum said she was going to start fostering again. She did it a few years ago and we got some right brats. I mean I know they had it rough and I feel bad saying this but you shudda seen some of them. Then Mum stopped cos it wore her out. She said her heart broke a bit every time they came and went. So when she said a few months ago she was doing it again I got all ready for the rollercoaster. But your okay. Your the youngest we’ve had but your definitely the coolest. I mean I know you got issues but your interesting too and talk much older than five sometimes. Your an ace drawer. Didn’t we laugh when I said you should draw curtains and you said it’s easier than drawing breath! And your just so cool for watching all my Muhammad Ali DVDs with me. Ali is the greatest! I’m smiling now cos you sound so funny when you repeat it after me. And when we watched his fight with Sonny Liston and you said it was black and white so how would we know what side they’re on. Theres only one side in boxing Conor and thats your own. My dad told me that. He got me into it. I’m gonna join a club soon and gonna be as great as Ali. You can come and watch me train when your bigger. Ali said he hated every minute of training but also he said don’t quit suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion. Your gonna be a champion too Conor! I reckon your early days that werent too good mean it’ll happen. I hope so. I guess your like the brother I’ve never had. Anyway I don’t know how long you’ll be with us cos they never know but I hope it’s a long time. Really do.
From,
Mark Caine
30
Bernadette
In the car returning to Hull, Bernadette thinks about the other time Richard was late home. The memory forces its way into her head; a child pushing roughly to the front of the school-dinner queue. It’s as though now she has begun to cut Richard out of her life, his ghost is trying to reclaim her.
One of the first questions PC French asked them earlier was whether Conor had ever gone missing before. Does the fact that Richard came home late once before make his non-appearance now more or less meaningful? Whether or not she wants to remember, the car’s motion and the occasional swish of passing vehicle encourage the recollection.
Like then, she is closed in a dark place.
‘He came home late once last year,’ says Bernadette.
Anne starts as though she’d fallen asleep at the wheel. ‘Richard?’
‘Yes. I think it has to mean something. When something out of the ord
inary happens.’
‘Maybe,’ says Anne.
‘I’m sorry to keep going on,’ says Bernadette. ‘But it’s like how people say your life flashes before you when you die, except it’s my marriage I’m seeing.’
‘Tell me about it,’ says Anne.
Bernadette does.
*
Autumn is always prettiest at Tower Rise. While the evergreen trees smugly retain their colour, the oaks and beeches slowly die. But in their demise they are most captivating, as though wanting to leave a lasting impression. Burnt oranges and plum reds dominate the landscape, a scorched desert under blue sky.
That evening the trees seduced Bernadette.
Instead of beginning her five-thirty ritual of laying the table and checking the chicken, she forgot the time. From the lounge window she counted falling leaves, and smiled. The leaves were leaving. She said the ditty aloud: The leaves are leaving. Pretty. She might write it down. Tell Conor. He’d likely have to paint leaves at school, a theme they’d often covered when she was a kid, observing the lines and creases as you might in a hand’s palm.
Bernadette had been reading all afternoon. Halfway through a new paperback she’d put the chicken in the oven and peeled some vegetables. Then, when her eyes got tired, she shut the novel and put it on the shelf by Conor’s Lifebook. The view beckoned. Low in the sky, a wan sun struggled to compete with the dazzling leaves. She watched it sink.
