The Boy No One Loved (18 page)

It was now late September and I was beginning to get excited. Riley was almost 37 weeks pregnant, and blooming, and the birth – for so long an event on the far horizon – was rushing headlong to meet us. I couldn’t wait. It seemed incredible, looking back, just how eventful a year we’d been having; starting a whole new career, and taking in Justin, and in the midst of it all my darling daughter and her lovely partner had been quietly having a small revolution of their own, bringing Mike and my first grandchild into the world.

And like any prospective new grandparents, we couldn’t have been more excited. I’d gone with Riley to almost all of her antenatal appointments, her midwife very sweetly arranging all of them to suit me, bless her, knowing I could only attend when Justin was in school. We had the first scan photo proudly affixed to the kitchen fridge and, upstairs, in our bedroom, Mike and I had quite a baby collection going, from a new pram and a state of the art sterilising unit to an ever growing collection of baby clothes.

Mike had also planned to surprise Riley when she came out of hospital by whizzing in while she was in there and decorating the room she was going to use for the baby’s nursery. He’d hatched his plan because David had commented that they couldn’t really afford to sort the nursery out straight away, and had said that they intended to keep the baby in with them until they’d got enough time and money to get around to it. So the new granddad-to-be had taken himself shopping, and bought Winnie the Pooh wallpaper, borders and soft toys, all of which he had now hidden until the big day. It would be a big job to do in what was likely to be a small space of time, but if anyone could do it, I knew Mike could.

But there was something else looming – also on the near horizon – and, in contrast to the impending birth of Riley’s baby, this was one thing I wasn’t looking forward to at all. At some point, quite soon now, the time would come for Justin to leave us, and move to the new foster placement that my fostering agency had been planning for and quietly putting in place since day one.

I should have been prepared, of course, because I’d always known this. Our kind of fostering – indeed, in truth,
any
kind of fostering – was never designed to be permanent. But like anyone whose preference was to live in the moment, as mine was, I’d tried not to think about the longer-term plans with anything other than an optimistic bent. This worked well when things were bad, and would work well when we let him go, but right now, the only thing I really didn’t want to think about was the fact that he would soon have to join a new family.

It was brought home to me forcibly one quiet weekday evening when he and I, as had become our habit, almost without my really noticing, were sitting together on the sofa, watching telly.

Mike had gone up to have a bath and Justin, who’d been sitting at the other end of the sofa, now snuggled up and put his head in my lap.

I smiled as I began stroking the soft curls away from his forehead. Like so much else, this physical closeness, as natural as breathing to most children and their parents, and so alien to Justin when he’d come to us, had kind of crept up without us really noticing.

‘You’ll soon be too big,’ I said, ‘to want to do this with me any more, sunshine.’

He grinned up at me. ‘So you’d better make the most of it, then!’

I laughed as he turned back to the TV and made himself comfortable. ‘Ten minutes then,’ I said. ‘Then I have to get up and make Mike’s supper.’

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but Casey?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I’ll never really be too big for this, will I? Not
really
. Because it’s like I’m your
real
son now, isn’t it? And
real
sons never get too big for snuggling up to their mum, do they?’

‘No babes,’ I agreed. ‘No, they don’t.’

I was so, so moved, and also, despite its bittersweet nature, also quietly thrilled by what Justin had said – could there honestly be a greater affirmation that we’d made progress? But at the same time I felt the waves of sadness wash over me. This was also proof that our job was almost done.

We’d covered this at some length in training. The programme was designed so that over a year, give or take, the child would go through, and pass, all the stages of the treatment, and hopefully arrive at the end of the process both practically and emotionally ready to move on – and back, hopefully, into mainstream foster care. This wasn’t always going to happen of course (as Mike and I would find out with other children, when we were further down the line) but, if it worked, that was always the ultimate goal. No-one ever wanted to see a child in care essentially given up on, so it mattered to everyone involved in both its introduction and its provision that the programme was so far registering lots of successes.

I stood in the kitchen, that evening, watching Justin sitting beside me at the table, quietly finishing off a of piece of homework, and tried to imagine our lives once again without him.

I had spent a long time during training trying to imagine making the difficult transition from free and easy parents of independent grown children to responsible carers for pubescents and young teens again – how would we adapt to once again losing our freedom? How well would we cope again with tears and tantrums? How would we get on, constantly doling out discipline? But now we’d done that it struck me that I’d never once considered how difficult it would be to let go of the child. You saw your own children through life – right from the cradle to adulthood and beyond. This was so different, like handing over a job not yet done.

But our part
was
done, and we had to accept it. More worrying, though, was would
he
? He was a damaged child, badly hurt, and as we’d been told, over and over, damaged children tend to block out things that cause them any pain. So it was difficult to know how he would take this new change: would he regress to old ways of behaving in order to deal with it?

One thing that had been emphasised during our training was that we should expect, once the process of moving on had been started, a regression in Justin’s behaviour. It didn’t matter how clear it had been made to him at the beginning of the process that this was a temporary placement, with a specific goal in mind –
another
placement – he would, we were promised, have blocked that out. And what might happen, John had told us, now the reality of that was about to stare him in the face, was an almost inevitable negative response.

In short, he would not want to leave us. And why would he? He’d just told me he felt happy and like one of the family –
our
family. How cruel life could be. I felt awful.

And it must have been affecting me more than I realised, because while on autopilot, preparing veg for dinner while he worked, I found myself reaching into the cupboard for a pack of crumpets and the hot chocolate. Our Friday treat, and it wasn’t even Friday.

Once I’d had a chat with John about Justin having reached the end of the points programme, things began to move quickly.

‘We need to set up a meeting,’ he told me. ‘All of us. You and Mike, obviously, plus Harrison and I, so we can sit down and explain everything in detail to Justin. We’ve found a family – we’ve both met them – who we feel are pretty perfect, and once we’ve told Justin about them, we want to go ahead and arrange for them all to meet. But brace yourself, Casey,’ he warned. ‘This is the tough bit.’

‘It feels like it,’ I said. ‘And the “bit” hasn’t even happened yet!’ I laughed, but it was only on the outside. ‘I’m dreading telling him,’ I confessed. ‘I’m dreading seeing his expression.’

‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you imagine,’ John counselled.

I was equally sure it probably would be. I looked back – the ‘Little Mermaid’ pool party, the holiday in Spain, the small triumphs, the big disasters, the trust he’d finally placed in us. The love.

How did you tell a child that he was going to have to vacate the very bedroom that he had at last come to see as his principal place of safety? How did you tell a child he had to leave you, full stop?

I’d had many wobbles on the journey Mike and I had embarked on in all this. Both before it, and during training, and many, many times since. But they were as nothing to the wobble I was having now.

‘Aw, it’s not fair. I soooo want to come!’ Riley pulled a face as she plonked herself down at the kitchen table. Bob immediately came up and licked her hand, as if sympathising with her evident dismay.

Bob had been back with us for a while now, both Kieron and Lauren having made the decision that Justin was mature enough to behave himself around him. And it had been a good decision. The two of them were now pretty much inseparable, but along with that it was clear the Justin also understood that Bob was a family pet, to be loved by all the family.

‘I know, love,’ I said. ‘And we’re all going to miss you. But look at you – you could go into labour at any moment.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Justin, pulling his new hoodie over his head. We’d been out and chosen a brand new set of clothes for him. New trainers, some natty joggers and a pillar-box-red zip-up hoodie. ‘Supposing your waters break all over the car seat? YEUUCH!!’

‘Well, that’s charming,’ huffed Riley.

‘Yes, gross, mate!’ agreed Kieron.

‘Yes, delightful,’ agreed Mike, his grin almost as wide as mine was. ‘But come on, you lovely lot. It’s getting late. Time to go.’

It was two weeks into October now and we were all off on an adventure. Well, bar Riley, of course, now 39 weeks pregnant and currently so huge that both her doctor and midwife had advised her against going pretty much
anywhere
, as they felt she could go into labour at any moment. But the rest of us were off to the ceremony that would mark Justin’s graduation from the specialist foster programme. It was a very big day for him, and pretty special for us, too – we were all of us first timers at this.

The ceremony was to take place in the function suite of the team offices for our fostering agency, and everyone involved in Justin’s care would be there. We were all gutted Riley couldn’t be with us to share the moment, but, actually, the potential situation Justin so delicately outlined would, if it happened, cause big problems. It was a good hour’s drive away and, if she did go into labour, she’d have one hell of a long journey back to hospital.

We arrived at around eleven, after a trouble-free journey, and right away I could see how seriously they took the whole business – and rightly so, to my mind; the children the course was intended for were the sort of kids for whom success at
anything
was a very big deal indeed. It was right and proper that they learned that what you put in you could definitely get out in this life, and I smiled at the red carpet that had been laid at the entrance to the function suite, albeit optimistically, given the leaden October sky – why shouldn’t our lad be a star for the day?

Even so, I was still really moved to see just how
much
of an effort the staff at the agency had made. As well as the red carpet there was a huge golden banner hanging above the doorway, too, which said ‘Well Done Justin – You Did It!’ in huge lettering. I made a mental note to be sure to take a photo of it before we left.

‘Oh, my God, Casey! Look at that!’ Justin said, gasping as he saw it. ‘Aw, Casey,’ he said again. ‘I almost daren’t go in!’

‘Don’t be daft, mate!’ Kieron urged. ‘That thing’s there for a reason, stupid. It’s been put up there because you’ve done so well. Get on in there!’ He gave him a nudge from behind to encourage him. ‘And hurry up, will you? I’m freezing stood out here!’

The people inside must have heard us all deliberating, because just then one of the two double doors swung open to reveal a room that seemed full to bursting. It seemed everyone was there: John Fulshaw, of course; Justin’s head of year at school, Richard Firth; his lovely teaching assistant, Helen King; the anger-management counsellor, Simon; plus Harrison Green with two other staff I recognised, who had worked with him from time to time; and then, finally, all of us – his ‘family’.

He had been asked if he’d like to invite his mother to the ceremony, but he was adamant she wouldn’t be welcome. ‘She hasn’t helped me though any of this,’ he’d said, quite reasonably, ‘so why should she share my party?’ I’d been concerned, and still was, that he might regret that decision later but Mike too had been adamant about it. ‘It’s his day,’ he reminded me. ‘So it
must
be his choice. It’s not up to us to try to pressure him in this. He has the right to decide who to invite.’

Seeing the sea of smiling and familiar faces seemed to dispel any lingering traces of shyness in Justin, and he went into the room, the three of us close behind him, and we all took our seats for the ceremony. A row of seats had been reserved for us, right at the front, and Justin quickly popped himself in between Mike and me so he wasn’t the one right in the centre. Once again, as I sat down, I was moved by all the effort that had gone into celebrating this important day. To one side was a table that was laden with party food – the make-up of which was, as with the other details, something Justin had been asked to specify. He’d created his list and then emailed it to John, and, exactly as requested, the spread of his dreams was laid out in big mounds before us. There were pizza slices, sausages on sticks, jam sandwiches, crackers with peanut butter, cup cakes and – and I couldn’t quite believe it when I saw them – even a plateful of crumpets and a toaster!

Above all this, there was even more evidence of celebration, in the form of clusters of balloons and coloured streamers. And Mike and I nudged each other at exactly the same moment, on both seeing the wall that was adjacent to the buffet, which had been completely covered with photographs of Justin, which I’d chosen and secretly emailed to John, earlier in the week. They were all such nice happy pictures, I’d thought, and looked even more so now they’d been blown up and displayed. It felt so good – such a lovely record of Justin’s time with us – to see them all reproduced here.

The official graduation took place without delay, and Mike, Kieron and I listened very proudly as each member of the party took a turn to say a few words about Justin, and to rightly praise every little achievement. To an outsider who didn’t know the child who’d first come to us, it might have seemed a bit too much – so much fuss about so little – but for
this
child it had been anything but. And I looked on with pride, not to mention the most enormous lump in my throat, as Justin stepped shyly forward to receive certificates and handshakes and accept the congratulations he really did deserve.

‘Oh, my God, Mike,’ I hissed, as the room finally erupted into a massive and sustained round of applause. ‘I am going to lose it. I am, you know. I’m going to embarrass him now, for sure …’

‘You and me both, love,’ he whispered back.

Justin’s final prize was then presented, by John. It was a trophy – and a big one; no half measures here, it seemed – that was engraved with his name, underneath which was written, ‘
An outstanding achievement award for an outstanding young man’
.

‘Now, then, young man,’ John asked Justin, as he presented it, ‘how about
you
saying a few words?’

I wanted to catch Justin’s eye, then, so I could nod my encouragement. I felt certain that, like most boys of his age in this situation, making any sort of speech, however brief, would be a terrifying prospects. But to my surprise and pleasure, he looked John straight in the eye and nodded.

‘Thank you everybody, for today,’ he said, looking right around the room, and grinning as he held the trophy high above his head, to another inevitable round of cheers and whoops. ‘I love this!’ he added, and you could see that he really meant it. ‘Thank you all
so
much. But I especially want to say thank you to Casey, Mike and Kieron. Oh, and Riley,’ he turned to grin at me now, ‘who can’t be here. You’ve all done loads for me and put up with me and all my baggage – see, that’s a good word, Casey! Got that from Simon! But anyway, thanks so much. I love you loads.’

At this, I was done for. I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. And I noticed Mike and Kieron were wiping their eyes too – the big softies – as I rushed up to give Justin a huge bear hug.

But Justin’s celebrations weren’t going to end with the presentation. We really wanted to celebrate at home too, as a family, so that we could really
get
home to him that he was properly, and permanently, a part of ours now, whatever the logistics of his next move.

We’d invited everyone we thought should be there with us. All Mike and my extended families who’d got to know Justin since he came to us, plus our good friends and their children – all people who’d contributed positively to his life and who’d been such an amazing support to us, as well. John and the team travelled back to ours also, to continue the celebrations. In fact, the only person Justin didn’t want to come back with us was Harrison – a notable exclusion, Justin explaining as his reason that Harrison being there would make it ‘too official’. I didn’t comment, but, in truth, I suspected that the real reason he didn’t want Harrison there was because he, out of all of us, most represented the future. It would be him, after all, who would be accompanying Justin – and that big old suitcase of his – to his next home.

But we none of us wanted to dwell on such things; this was a day for the present, not the past
or
the future, and for today, at least, that was how it felt. The house was full of laughter and fun and games – just as it should be – and there was no further talk of what a watershed this was – no more points to be totted up, with chocolate and crumpets on a Friday, let alone what its passing
really
meant. And Justin seemed happy,
properly
happy, and it was really good to see. And at the end of it, Mike and I basked in a warm glow of satisfaction so that, for the moment, at least, life felt pretty good.

It was only when I popped upstairs a couple of evenings later, on my usual quest for dirty washing, that the reality of the new situation hit me hardest. Approaching Justin’s room – he’d gone upstairs now to watch a movie – I was overtaken by Bob, who streaked inside ahead of me.

‘Hey there, little fellow,’ I heard Justin say softly. ‘I’m gonna miss you when I have to go, aren’t I?’ There was a pause then, in which I could visualise him gently stroking Bob, before he spoke again, now in a voice that was even softer. ‘Yes, I bloody well
am
gonna miss you, boy,’ I heard him whisper. ‘And you’re gonna miss me, too, aren’t you? Yes, you are. I
know
you are.’

Would he be able to articulate those feelings with us, I wondered? I so badly wanted that – for him to keep us all close. To feel secure in our love. Not to push us all away, as we’d repeatedly been warned to expect would happen. I tiptoed the rest of the way across the landing.