Chapter 7
It was a 15-minute drive from the supermarket to home, but as I ushered Tyler back up the front path I realised that it wasn’t only him who was still feeling agitated – my own heart was still pumping with adrenalin. No, it hadn’t actually flared up into a full-blown physical tussle, thank goodness, but it had been an ugly, disturbing scene and, more than that, a telling one. It had told me a great deal about the state of affairs in Tyler’s home – none of which filled me with much hope.
And it seemed events were moving on apace now, as well. As I put my key in the door I could hear the house phone ringing.
‘Go on, love,’ I said to Tyler. ‘Get upstairs and change out of your uniform while I get that. Then come straight back down. You and I need to have a chat, okay?’
Tyler, no doubt glad to be off the leash, ran off up the stairs as instructed, while I made a grab for the phone.
It was John Fulshaw. ‘Ah, you’re there,’ he said. ‘I was just about to hang up.’
‘Sorry,’ I gasped into the receiver, ‘long story. How are you?’
‘I have mixed news to give you, I’m afraid,’ John said, without preamble. ‘The good news is that Will Fisher has agreed to do an extra half day a week with Tyler during the school holidays – assuming that suits you, of course – take him off on some outings – swimming, go-karting; that sort of thing. Thought it might give you a bit of extra breathing space.’
‘That is good news,’ I said. And for me as well as Tyler. I wasn’t Methuselah, but neither was I a spring chicken these days, and what with the holidays approaching, and with trying to support Riley through those intense early months with my gorgeous but demanding grand-daughter, those few hours a week to catch my breath would be welcome indeed. ‘But what’s the flip side? Go on. I’m braced.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ John reassured me. ‘Just a little unexpected. I’ve just taken another call from Will – just as I was going to ring you with the first news, funnily enough – to say they have Tyler’s court date, and it’s rather short notice. Which is no problem for them – they already have their case organised, and it’s obviously a strong one – but it doesn’t leave a lot of time for you and Mike to put something together – you know, as in what we talked about? Just a few illustrative snippets to show how he’s doing; how he’s remorseful, keen to make amends and so on.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But exactly how short are we talking about here?’
‘It’s next Wednesday. 11.00 a.m.,’ he said. ‘You know where the courts are, don’t you?’
Jeepers, I thought. That was pretty short notice. ‘Next Wednesday! That’s less than a week away! Yes, I know where the courts are,’ I added, ‘but, oh dear, I have to tell you that we’ve had something of an incident this afternoon – which I think might just upset the apple-cart a bit.’
I explained to John about what had happened following our encounter in the supermarket, and how it had given me more of an idea of what we were up against. ‘And the frustrating thing is that this could happen again, couldn’t it? With the family living so close by, we could end up bumping into them all the time.’
Which, given what had happened, was now becoming a worry, for obvious reasons. The way Tyler’s stepmother had been with him spoke volumes. It was the clearest indication yet that she really wanted nothing more to do with him – not to mention how she obviously felt about letting him near his little brother, which was the thing that had saddened me most of all.
And made me determined to try and get something more out of him – particularly about the night in question – so we’d at least have a fuller picture of what we were up against, come the hearing. ‘Leave it with me,’ I told John. ‘Don’t worry – we’ll get something together. I’ll also run through the court procedure with Tyler so that he’s prepared for what’ll happen. Maybe after what’s happened this afternoon he’ll feel a little more like talking anyway. I really hope so. That poor lad needs to fight his corner.’
‘Er, not literally, Casey,’ John corrected. ‘That’s how we got to this, remember!’
John was right. But Tyler needed someone to fight his corner for him, and, in that respect, I knew I was number one candidate. I also had an hour before Mike was due home so it was time to start tea, and I intended to put it to good use.
‘Come on, love,’ I called up the stairs to Tyler, once I’d said goodbye to John. ‘I need to talk to you. Don’t worry,’ I added, when he didn’t appear, ‘you’re not in trouble.’
There was still no response, and I’d already mounted the first couple of stairs when Tyler appeared at the top of them. It was obvious he’d been crying, and trying to wipe away the evidence. My heart went out to him. ‘I’m not?’ he said. ‘You promise I’m not?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I reassured him, as I beckoned him back down. I felt a rush of positivity. This was exactly what I’d been waiting for. Not that I wanted him upset and crying, of course, but I did want a way in. A tiny chink in the armour. A little glimpse into the heart of the hurt kid that I knew lay behind the cloak of attitude and anger. ‘I promise, sweetie,’ I said again as he started to walk slowly down the stairs. ‘No, you shouldn’t have lashed out physically – but you already know that, don’t you? But, apart from that, you have nothing to reproach yourself for. It’s not your fault that we bumped into them, is it? And, as far as I can see, it’s not your fault that you weren’t allowed to speak to your brother, either.’
Which I knew, even as I said it, wasn’t perhaps the most appropriate thing for me to be saying to him. My normal world was one in which adults, in the main, knew best, hung together and were of largely similar opinions – the world where if a child came home and said that their teacher had told them off, it was natural to assume it must have been for a good reason. And, in truth, I didn’t know. Perhaps there was a very good reason why Tyler wasn’t allowed to speak to his little brother – perhaps he had ‘previous’ with him, as well. But my instinct screamed otherwise. If there was a good reason for Tyler to be denied contact with his sibling, then I felt 100 per cent sure it would already be in the notes somewhere – as extra ammunition, fired by his stepmother, in the cause of taking him to court. But there was nothing. Which spoke volumes to me.
So I didn’t care, I decided – not on this occasion, anyway. This particular kid had already been through enough. ‘Come on,’ I said, daring for the first time to ruffle his hair as he walked past, ‘let’s have a sit down, shall we? And have a proper chat.’
Tyler scrubbed at his eyes roughly as he took a seat at the dining table. I’d hoped he might head for the living room and get comfortable on the sofa, so that I could join him, but perhaps he wasn’t ready for that level of physical closeness yet. And much as I wanted to give him a cuddle, his brittle little body told me I needed to bide my time for a bit. At least he was here with me, and his tears were progress in themselves; tears of hurt he was finally letting me see.
I sat down opposite him and folded my arms on the table. ‘That phone call I just took was from my link worker, Tyler. You remember John, who brought you here?’
Tyler nodded and sniffed, and as he did so I noticed something else. He’d changed into his favourite hoodie, but the hood, for once, was down.
‘Well,’ I continued, deciding to leave Will out of things for the moment, ‘he was calling to tell me that they now have a date for your court appearance.’
I watched as a look of panic crossed his features. ‘It’s next Wednesday,’ I added quickly, ‘but, Tyler, that’s a good thing. It’s better that it’s so soon. It means it’ll be over and done with – so you won’t have it hanging over you, making you worry.’
‘But that’s less than a week away!’ he cried, parroting what I’d just said to John. ‘They’ll send me down, won’t they? I know they will.’
I would have smiled at his choice of term if I had felt at all like smiling. As it was, I was more concerned with reassuring him. ‘Tyler, they won’t be “sending you down”. They won’t be sending you anywhere,’ I added, crossing my fingers that I was right. But how could I not be? He was 11. There couldn’t be a magistrate in the land that would countenance such a thing, surely? And if we were unlucky enough to find one who felt differently, I’d take it upon myself to appeal in the strongest terms. Chain myself to the court railings, if need be, I decided. Or the bike rack, more likely. But it would be unnecessary. He’d already been sent ‘down’ after all – down into the care system. Down to our house.
Which, to my mind, was the first positive in the whole sorry business. ‘How do you know?’ he argued. ‘One of my mates threatened this old lady with a knife once, and he got sent away for ever.’
‘Don’t be daft, love. They won’t send you away,’ I said, ‘I promise you. Sweetie, what you did was done in the heat of the moment. You were angry about so many things, weren’t you?’ He nodded slightly. ‘Whereas your friend – well, I’m just guessing, but I bet that was completely different. If he threatened some poor old lady with a knife, then he probably deserved to get sent away, didn’t he? But I can assure you it won’t have been for ever.’
Tyler looked like he was about to burst into tears again – which was no surprise, really, if he’d been harbouring a conviction that his fate was to be flung into jail. I needed to steer the conversation to a safer place for him. ‘Look, sweetie,’ I went on, ‘John also called to tell me that the social workers are going to try and help you. They will have written letters that they’ll read out in court to tell people about you – about what happened that night, and about other bad things that happened to you – the things that happened when you were little. Do you understand that?’
‘D’you mean about my mum dying?’
‘Yes, about your mum,’ I said, nodding. ‘And about how she died, too. And also about anything else they might know about anything that could have hurt you. That’s what they’ll be there for. You know, if you’ve told them stuff already, or to the police – you probably spoke to the police about it, didn’t you? Well, they’ll have it all written down and they’ll tell everyone about it, to try to help the judge understand why you might have acted as you did.’
It was clearly a lot for him to take in, the idea that anyone might want to help him. But once he had, another thought had obviously struck him. ‘But the judge prob’ly won’t believe them,’ he said, with feeling. ‘She lies, Casey! All the time! She tells all sorts of lies, and everyone always believes her. She’ll tell them how bad I am and how good she is and that’ll be that,’ he finished. ‘Ten years for me!’
I did suppress a smile at that, because he sounded just like the Artful Dodger. And with those big soulful eyes, he even looked a bit like him, too. But it really wasn’t funny to see just how convinced he was that that would happen. ‘Not at all!’ I said firmly. ‘Courts are not stupid, Tyler. They have to listen to both sides of every story. That’s their job. Doesn’t matter if it’s a kid or an adult – they listen to everyone equally. And only then do they make up their mind who they believe the most.’
‘An’ they’ll believe her!’ he persisted.
‘Not if they haven’t got very good reason to,’ I countered. ‘And not if they have very good reason to believe you. Which is where social services come in, and where Mike and I come in, too. Tyler, we know all about the bad things that happened to you when you were little, and we’re here to help you – you know that, don’t you? To help make things better for you in any way we can. And one of the things I have to do next Wednesday is read out my own letter to the court – just like the helping letters I just mentioned – telling them how you’ve been feeling since you came to us. So what we need to do now is see if there’s anything else you’d like them to know about you. Anything at all. About that night with the knife, or about any trouble before that night happened … anything that’s happened … anything that’s been done to you … anything that made you upset, made you feel so angry, perhaps – even something you might now feel sorry about having said or done … or any other feelings you might have, about any of it. Anything that’s niggling you – about your dad and stepmum, about your brother, about your real mum … about anything, okay? And I’ll sit and listen, and I’ll remember what you tell me, then I’ll write my letter for the court and I’ll show it to you, okay? And then, assuming you’re happy with what I put, I can read it out on Wednesday, to help the courts understand you a bit more.’
He pondered this for a few moments, a little crease forming on his forehead. ‘But why do they want to understand me?’ he asked, in a small, thoughtful voice. ‘How would that help?’
I risked reaching across and ruffling his hair again, and I was thrilled when he didn’t flinch. ‘Because, sweetie, everything happens for a reason. It might seem like you did what you did just because you couldn’t control your temper, but you know – and I know – there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? And we want the judge to know that as well, don’t we? So,’ I finished, hoping that his fear of ‘going down’ would prove the catalyst for him opening up, ‘do you want to give it a go? Do you want to tell me?’
By the time the morning of the court case came around the following Wednesday, I looked in the bathroom mirror and decided I looked as if I’d aged by half a decade. I had hardly slept, and had bags under my eyes the size of suitcases – the baggage, I decided wryly, that I had finally wrestled out of Tyler, and clearly stashed in a convenient, but gallingly visible, location.
I would shove a couple of teaspoons in the freezer, I decided, and, once they were nicely chilled, give myself five uninterrupted minutes with them on my face. Because today was a day when I would need to be on song and look on top of things, particularly given the circumstances of the court case. I needed to look sharp and in control – not like a woman who was worn down by the stress of trying to manage this apparently unmanageable, knife-wielding young thug.
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.