Nowhere to Go (7 page)

No. This was Tyler’s day of reckoning and he was counting on us to fight his corner, just as I had promised him we’d do. To advocate for him and to make sure the rest of his youth wouldn’t be tainted by the outcome of today. Yes, he had done wrong, and he knew it. No one should ever take a weapon to another person – especially not a knife, which could inflict such serious damage – but both Mike and I, and social services, had to make sure that the court understood the extreme circumstances that had driven him to do such a thing. Make them aware that it wasn’t just a violent over-reaction to whatever had happened between him and his stepmother that morning. That it was so much more than that, as I’d always suspected and now truly believed. The culmination of a process that had been started in his infancy – the combination of the severe trauma of losing his mother the way he did, and a subsequently crappy upbringing – there was no other word for it.

It was still only 7.00 a.m. when I slipped quietly out of the shower and temporarily into a pair clean pyjamas. I would need to get dolled up in smart, court-appropriate clothing, but there was no rush, and, besides, I didn’t want to wake anyone just yet, especially Mike – I’d already kept him awake until the early hours going over everything as it was. He deserved a bit more sleep – it was a rare Wednesday off work for him after all, and an even rarer lie-in – and as we weren’t due in court until 11.00 a.m. there was plenty of time for him to enjoy another hour’s kip.

No, I decided, I’d let both of them sleep, and while they did so I would go downstairs to cook up a special breakfast for us all. And I was almost at the fridge, with the intention of getting eggs, bacon and mushrooms out, when a slight movement at the edge of my vision made me almost jump out of my skin.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ I gasped, realising that it was Tyler who I was seeing. He was squatting down, with his back to the cupboard next to the fridge-freezer, partly obscured behind the kitchen table and chairs. ‘What on earth are you doing up this early? And fully dressed too! And why are you hiding down there?’

‘I wasn’t hiding,’ he responded, rising. ‘I was just sitting an’ thinking.’ He looked thoroughly miserable, too. I pulled a chair out and made him sit on it, reflecting on how young and vulnerable he looked in the clothes I’d laid out ready the night before. School trousers, white shirt, school shoes – nicely polished – topped off with a smart V-necked jumper I’d found for him, court being no place for his beloved hoodies.

‘Thinking what?’ I asked him, reaching into the fridge for the breakfast things, trying to keep everything light.

‘That I’m scared, Casey,’ he said. ‘I’m not never going home, am I? Not after you read them court people the stuff that I told you. I shouldn’t have told you it. I wish I hadn’t now. She’ll hate me more than ever now, and make Dad hate me too.’

My heart went out to him, and I went straight to sit beside him. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, and there was nothing I could say or do that would change that. He needed to make his case, and he knew that. He needed the court to know the truth. But at the same time, in the telling, he had made himself vulnerable – handed her even more reason to push him out of their lives. And since I’d met her myself in the supermarket, I was sure that was her plan.

It was a stark place to be and I wished he didn’t have to be there. In that instant I felt a flame of fury flare towards his father. Where had
he
been? Why hadn’t he seen what must have been happening for so long? Why had he not protected his son? Here was this broken kid, who clearly loved his dad and his brother with all his heart. But between them and him was this obstacle who appeared to be determined that he wouldn’t be part of their lives. And to compound the problem, this obstacle was loved and cherished by both the father and the brother, by all accounts, so Tyler really was the piggy in the middle.

And he was probably right. Today would only serve to reinforce that. Today would ensure that his stepmother would dislike him even more. Which affected me and how I handled things, clearly. I knew I would have to think very hard about what I said in that courtroom and how I said it.

‘None of us know that, love,’ I reassured him now, trying to put a positive spin on things. ‘For all we know she might not even turn up to court. And even if she does, she might not get the chance to say anything at all. They might already have all the notes they need, mightn’t they? And make a decision there and then. No point worrying about things we don’t know, sweetie, is there? Now how about you jump up and help me cook us a big fry-up, eh? To keep us going. We’ll surprise Mike. How about that?’

Helping me cook breakfast seemed to do the trick of taking his mind off things, even if only temporarily, and by half past ten – Tyler and Mike with full tummies and me with a full heart – the three of us were being ushered into a small room in the family court building.

Once in there, John explained to us that, because of Tyler’s age, it was to be a special hearing in a room only a little larger than the one we were currently squashed into. Which was a relief. I had been in juvenile courts before – this one included – and they could be scary and intimidating places.

‘As far as I know,’ he explained, ‘they also already have all the background they need.’ He nodded towards Tyler at this point, and smiled at him. ‘All the stuff about Mum and how you ended up at Dad’s?’ he qualified. Tyler nodded.

John looked back at Mike and me then. ‘And they are also aware of some of the circumstances of the last few years.’ He paused then, looking slightly uncomfortable. So I knew that whatever was coming next wouldn’t necessarily be good news. And I wasn’t wrong. ‘One thing, though, Casey,’ he added, ‘re what I’ve asked you to prepare, is that I’ve been told that the emphasis is going to be very much on the here and now – how Tyler feels about the actual incident with the knife. Whether he realises it was wrong and whether he’s sorry about it – which I know you are, son,’ he added, smiling again at Tyler. ‘You know how it goes … busy schedule. Time tight and all that. So it looks like we won’t have much of an opportunity to discuss the past. Just where he goes from here, I imagine.’

It was a cryptic thing to say, and my first thought was
what?
All those words Tyler had told me and that it had broken my heart to write – and then type – for him. Words that I had been holding tightly on to, both in my head and in my hands.

Words like ‘
Grant calls them “Mum and Dad”, but I’m not allowed to. I have to use their proper names
.’ Words like ‘
When Dad works away on the rigs she always hits me
.’ Words like ‘
When Dad was at work, I had to go out robbing biscuits and stuff with Cameron when he did his paper round, cos she wouldn’t let me have any breakfast
.’ And the worst words of all: ‘
She grabbed me by the throat and said I was a fucking druggie’s kid and nobody loved kids from druggies
.’ I felt a lump rise in my throat thinking about some of the things Tyler had told me. And now, just as he’d predicted, his words wouldn’t even be heard.

But then another thought hit me, and it was altogether more positive. Could it be that the court had already kind of made their minds up? Could it be that, having heard what social services had to say, they already knew this was something of a waste of the court’s time? That they could see beyond the crime of passion to the circumstances around it and, just maybe, have realised that this child was a product of those circumstances and that there were other ways to turn him around way better than ‘sending him down’?

I hoped so. Oh, how I hoped so, particularly while I had to sit there and watch Tyler’s stepmother (through tightly gritted teeth) dabbing her eyes and shaking her head as she told her tale of woe; talk in gentle tones of how she’d tried so incredibly hard with this ‘unexpected’ child of her husband’s, but to no avail. He’d never loved her, she cried, no matter how much of a mother she tried to be. She
did
love him – she’d always tried to love him, just as if he were her own son – but as things were, she simply couldn’t put her younger son or herself at risk of his violent outbursts any more. No, she concluded, for the foreseeable future anyway, sad to say it, he was much better off in care.

As she finished, I glanced at Tyler and saw the look of confusion on his face. He was just staring at her as if finding it impossible to reconcile what he was hearing with what he knew to be true. And that he had told me the truth I was in no doubt. ‘Thank God we saw them in that supermarket,’ I hissed at Mike as she took her seat again. ‘Because if we hadn’t, she might have convinced me, as well.’

Mike squeezed my hand. ‘I don’t think so, love,’ he said. ‘She didn’t convince me one bit. The thing is, has she convinced the magistrate? That’s what matters.’

All I could do was hope not – not that it really mattered. Yes, there was an outside chance they’d opt for some sort of custodial order, but it was minuscule – no, what upset me more was the fact that Tyler had just had it spelt out to him so baldly that, as things stood, he was not welcome home. How must that make him feel? And was his dad not going to have any say in the matter? I guessed not; she was clearly speaking for the both of them. So far – and we’d not even been introduced to him, for God’s sake – he’d been like a ghost – present, but not so you’d know it.

Will Fisher was up next, talking about how he was getting to know Tyler – of how well he always behaved with him, and how much empathy he displayed.

‘And I’m not just relating my own experience,’ he added, sounding reassuringly professional. ‘As Tyler’s social worker, I’ve also interviewed several others who have had dealings with him, including Tyler’s previous social worker’ – he outlined the maternity leave situation – ‘and both his class teacher and the head of his new secondary school.’ He then started to launch into some background information, only to be stopped in his tracks by a court official telling him they were aware of the family circumstances.

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I didn’t know, and I didn’t think Will did either, but he pressed on, albeit looking a bit flustered, reporting that Tyler had shown a marked improvement in all areas, was settling down well in his new school and, despite earlier reports from his previous school, was indeed showing definite signs of remorse and a desire to please, plus a willingness to work hard on his temper.

Then, all of a sudden, it seemed to be my turn. I glanced down at the now slightly screwed-up notes in front of me and pondered what best to do. I knew what I had to do if I wanted to make Tyler’s case properly, but I also knew that Tyler himself wasn’t going to be too impressed at what I now realised he would see as throwing him to the lions as far as having any hope of making peace with his dad and brother was concerned. So I made a judgement. I would play the game and trust that enough had already been done to ensure nothing bad was going to happen. I cleared my throat and glanced nervously across the table at John, hoping he would make sense of my thinking.

‘I’m Tyler’s foster carer,’ I explained, once I’d stepped up to what passed for a witness box, but was in fact just a long bench situated in front of the important people, and reserved – I imagined – for the witnesses such as myself, ‘and during the short time he’s been with us we’ve discussed this incident in detail. And, as a consequence, I can say with confidence that Tyler does indeed realise that what he did that night was wrong. He realises that to take a knife to anyone is against the law, and he is sorry. He knows that he will have to pay for it in some way, and he accepts that. He also realises …’ I looked pointedly at Alicia here, before continuing, ‘that no matter
what
circumstances led to that argument and fight, he still shouldn’t have picked up a knife, no matter how angry he felt. I’d just like to ask that, if you do make an order today, it can be carried out within the home –
our
home, as things currently stand – and that Tyler is able to prove that he intends to change his life.’

‘Thank you,’ said the same court official that had cut Will short minutes earlier. ‘You may return to your seat.’

I sat down. If my heart was still beating thirteen to the dozen, what must this all be like for Tyler? I looked down at him. The poor kid looked as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening around him. And, looking at his stepmum – out to get him – and his father – silent as the bloody grave, and every bit as chilly – I think I’d find it difficult to believe, too.

In the end, the whole thing seemed to be over before we knew it, the court having decided that Tyler would be given a 12-month supervision order.

A ‘supervision’ order meant just that. A youth offending officer would now be assigned to Tyler and would meet up with him regularly – probably on a weekly basis – to hopefully ensure that Tyler understood his ‘crime’ and would make better choices in the future.

This was good news, at least in terms of the effect it had on Tyler – despite everything, I think a part of him still expected to be ‘going down’ for ten years – but still felt a bit of a tragedy to me. Only a smallish tragedy in the grand scheme of things – it was hardly heavy handed, given the performance of his stepmother, but at the same time it still seemed out of proportion to the ‘crime’ given the extent of the background to the actual incident. But it was done now, so I tried not to huff and puff.

Even so, I wasted no time, once Mike had taken Tyler off to the toilets, and Will had gone to fetch his car, to share my thoughts about the outcome with John. I understood Tyler’s anxiety about having told me the truth about his stepmother, and how worried he’d been about my sharing what he’d told me with the court, but at the same time, had they really taken everything into consideration? Did they really understand just how difficult a childhood Tyler had had? Was still having – because I didn’t see an end to it.

‘I know it seems that way, Casey,’ John tried to soothe. ‘But, honestly, they do have all the same information we have …’

‘Not that
I
have,’ I pointed out, waggling the rolled-up statement, which would very soon be going into my log. Even if I could only name and shame her there, it would be something.

‘Which we do need to talk about, I know,’ he said. ‘Because it’s important.’

He didn’t know quite how important yet, though, because we’d not had a chance to even talk about it yet, not really.

‘He’s made some worrying disclosures, John,’ I said.

‘I know,’ he answered, nodding. ‘As you said. But as far as what’s happened here is concerned,’ he went on, ‘a supervision order is probably par for the course. Whatever he’s told you – and I don’t doubt he’s telling the truth – he still took a knife to the woman, and he needs to know what the repercussions of such an action are. And actually, a supervision order is no bad thing for a boy of his age. He’s young enough that it might frighten him, rather than antagonise him, which it might if he was older, plus it will give him another confidant, another outlet, another interested adult to whom he can talk about the past – and, hopefully, see his future a little more clearly.’

‘Speaking of which,’ I said, ‘what happens now about resuming contact? From what I’ve seen – not to mention heard – we’re not in the best possible place.’

‘I know,’ John said again, frowning. But, look, there’s Mike and Tyler coming back. Shall I call you later today? Early evening or something? Decide upon some sort of strategy? I have to dash now. Will will be outside – mustn’t miss my lift.’

I agreed that was a plan, and then Tyler was back with us again, and someone else seemed to be on his way over – his father.

I nudged Mike. This was the first time we’d seen him or heard him. He wasn’t asked to speak in court – another thing that had needled me somewhat; why? – and all we’d seen of him so far was the back of his head.

‘Dad!’ Tyler called as he approached, running to greet him, while beyond him I could see his wife standing by the coffee machine, holding a paper cup of something and staring right back at me. I gave her a tight smile and turned towards her husband.

‘All right, Ty?’ he said. I remembered his name was Gareth. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and was tanned, presumably from working at sea. He leaned forward slightly and gave his son a quick pat on the head. They both had the same mop of dark wavy hair. ‘I hope you’re being good for Mr and Mrs Watson,’ he added, glancing at us. He then held a hand out. Mike shook it and smiled.

‘I have, Dad, I promise,’ Tyler said, while his father shook my hand. ‘When am I coming home now? Will it be soon?’

Incredibly, to my mind, Tyler’s father actually glanced back at his wife before answering. Why would he do that? She wasn’t even in earshot.

‘Not just yet, son,’ he said finally, looking profoundly uncomfortable. ‘Got to let the dust settle. Let things calm down a bit, yeah? Licia’s still a bit shook up by it all.’

I chewed the inside of my cheek to stop myself saying something I might wish I hadn’t.
Licia
? There was something about the deferential way he said her name that made me cringe. And definitely something about the whole sorry scenario that made me want to do something more definite than pull a face. This was his child he was talking about. All four foot eleven of him. Hadn’t he already just been punished by the court?

And I clearly wasn’t the only one who felt rattled. I could almost feel Tyler bristling beside me. He had already followed his father’s gaze to the woman who was still standing there, 15 feet away, sipping her drink, observing us.

‘But that’s not fair!’ Tyler blurted out. ‘That’s not fair, Dad! Just cos she says I stabbed her! And I never – it was an accident! And what about Grant? He wants me home, Dad – who’s going to look after him if I’m not there?’

Tyler’s dad put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Just give it some time, lad,’ he repeated. ‘We have to think about what’s best for everyone, don’t we? I’ve told you, son, Licia’s my wife, and I have to do right by her. She’s done her best for you, son –’

All this ‘son’ talk was grating. And not just to me, clearly, because Tyler was having none of it. He wriggled from his father’s grasp and put some distance between them, by high-tailing it out of the main doors.

Neither father nor stepmother made any move to follow him. It was Mike who was immediately hot-footing it in pursuit.

Tyler’s father looked at me then, with resignation in his eyes. ‘What can I do?’ his expression said, while his voice provided back-up. ‘She’s done her best for the lad,’ he repeated, as if trying to convince me. ‘Brought them up both exactly the same. God only knows how one turns out to be no trouble at all and the other one turns out to be such a wrong ’un. I know it looks bad, Mrs Watson,’ he said, almost apologetically, ‘but, well. I’m sure you know what happened. His mum was a wrong ’un too, so perhaps it’s in his genes …’ He tailed off then, glancing back again at his wife, in a gesture that screamed appeasement. A bit like young wolves did when faced with the leader of the pack.

‘I do know the background,’ was all I could think of to say to him. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that we haven’t written him off
just
yet …’

‘Oh, of course …’ he said, looking embarrassed now. ‘But, look, I really have to get off now. I just wanted to come over and introduce myself and let you know how grateful we both are for what you and your husband are doing. Let’s hope you can sort him out, eh?’ he finished, just as Mike and Tyler were returning, and then, almost as if he wanted to rush away rather than face them, he turned back in the direction of the coffee machine.

To where the she-wolf was waiting, I thought. I couldn’t help it; I couldn’t see her any other way.

‘Come on, love,’ I said to Tyler, putting my arm around his shoulder. ‘No point hanging around here, is there? Let’s jump in the car and go for a burger, eh?’

But Tyler shook his head. He didn’t want a burger and neither did he want platitudes. He wanted his dad and his brother and he wanted to go home.

And when was that going to be happening now? Ever?

I glanced at Mike over Tyler’s head as we made our way to the car park.
Unlikely
, our eyes said as they met.

It would obviously be unprofessional to stand in judgement over any family in whose lives, as foster carers, we were involved. In the real world, however, that was sometimes easier said than done, because as part of our briefing we sometimes knew too much. And, in our case, given the extreme nature of many of the children’s circumstances, what we knew was about family situations that were far from ideal.

Tyler’s disclosures to me ate away at me for the rest of the day, and while I had always understood that he had been taken in by his stepmother in extremely difficult circumstances (and that credit must have been due for her selflessness in doing so), what had happened subsequently, from what I could gather from Tyler, anyway, was that she’d done that time-honoured thing of perhaps acting in haste. And it had obviously taken the slog of caring for another woman’s child for her to realise she’d made a mistake.

A mistake she now seemed determined to make
him
pay for.

‘You don’t know that,’ Mike had said, reasonably enough, when Tyler was out with Will the following evening, having been picked up by him straight after school. They were off swimming – something Will suggested and to which Tyler had grudgingly agreed, on the basis that there might be a pizza in the equation. We were being lazy as a consequence – sharing a rare Chinese take-away.

‘I know I don’t,’ I admitted, ‘but it’s so hard to see it any differently. She seems determined to expunge him from their lives, don’t you think? And this court situation is a gift.’

‘He did pull a knife on her, Case.’

‘I know, and I’m never going to condone that. But he maintains that he never meant to stab her and I believe him. Just like I believe what he says about her systematic cruelty. God, Mike, isn’t it cruel enough that he wasn’t even allowed to call her “Mum”? Can you imagine how that must have eaten away at him? He was three, and it was made clear that he and Grant were not even
remotely
equal. That’s extreme mental cruelty right there!’

‘I know, love,’ Mike said again. ‘But –’

‘And what about his father?’ I said, pushing my plate away irritably. ‘What did you make of him? How could he stand there and say what he said in all conscience?’

‘Because he’s weak? Because he’s piggy in the middle?’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head. I know it might not be that simple, but it doesn’t seem that complicated, either. She’s the one calling the shots and her ultimatum’s clear. Tyler or her. And, of course, he doesn’t know the half of it, does he? That’s why I’m so ambivalent about Tyler’s disclosures not being read out in court.’

‘But do you really think it would have made any difference? They had one job to do – try an assault case against a juvenile – and they did that. Would knowing he’s had a rubbish start in life have changed the outcome?’

‘Possibly not, but now it’s so obvious she’s determined to be shot of him anyway, it would have been good to let that particular cat out of the bag, and let the court –
and
his father – know what’s been going on in his absence.’

Mike shook his head. ‘Yes, but how do you know he
doesn’t
know? I know Tyler chooses to believe she’s telling lies to his dad about him, but you know how these things work – what’s to say he isn’t all too aware? Just chooses to turn a blind eye so as not to upset the apple cart?’

‘So you think he’s in on it?’

‘He could well be. And even if he’s not, he could still be quietly condoning it – putting his head in the sand rather than risk confrontation. But love,’ he added gently, ‘what can we do about any of it anyway? It may well be that he doesn’t love Tyler either – let’s face it, it’s been known. He didn’t bond with him as a baby, did he? Just got handed him and told, “Here you are – these are your genes, mate.” And if they don’t love him, either of them – which
is
how I see it, to be honest, however much of a show Dad puts on – then of course they don’t want to take care of him, so what’s the point in even dwelling on it? If that’s the case, surely the best thing is to stop flogging a dead horse. That’s the reality of the situation, is it not?’

It was chilling to hear it but, of course, he was right. Which was what made it all so depressing. No matter how hard we worked on Tyler, how much time we all spent helping him fight his demons and move forward, what he might be moving on to might be the loss of such family as he had – the little brother he so obviously loved, and I felt sure loved him. How in all conscience could we let that happen?

‘We’re not going to,’ said John, the following morning, when he was finally able to pop round and talk things through. I’d already emailed him my statement, together with an up-to-date copy of my usual log, so between them he had the clearest picture to date of both how things had been with Tyler since he’d come to us, and how life had been up to the point of the knife incident.

It was the last day of the summer term today and, as of that afternoon, we’d have six weeks of long days to fill with our young charge – the key thing being to keep him out of mischief. For which I already had a few plans – doing some gardening for my mum and dad being one of them, joining Kieron’s footie crew being another – but it was a lot of space to fill.

But John had said what he’d said with an air of conviction. Which was encouraging. ‘Have you got a plan, then?’ I wanted to know.

‘Sort of,’ he said, ‘though not a hard and fast one. We thought we’d leave it a couple of weeks then see if we could fix up a meeting with the Broughtons. Now the court hearing is behind us, the plan was – and still is, up to a point – to see if we can open up a dialogue. See if there’s potential to have some sort of organised contact with his brother, and perhaps his dad, with, if at all possible, a view to him
perhaps
eventually returning home.’

I put down my coffee mug. I had picked up on something. ‘“Was, and still is, up to a point”?’ I asked him.

He grinned at me. ‘Trust you to spot that, Casey!’ But the grin soon turned to a worried sigh. ‘The truth is that Tyler’s disclosures have added a new aspect to things, haven’t they? If what he’s said is true then there are obviously issues we can’t ignore. We can’t un-know things we now know, can we?’

He made a good point. One of Tyler’s disclosures had been that his stepmother was actively abusing him – or at least being extremely physical in her punishments. He’d also confessed to stealing on her behalf, and being sworn to secrecy on pain of more beatings; if proven, things like that simply couldn’t be ignored. ‘So what’s the next step?’ I asked.