Nowhere to Go: The heartbreaking true story of a boy desperate to be loved. Casey Watson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ sudden thud was almighty. ‘Jesus! He bloody is!’ I said in amazement, watching his antics. ‘He’s purposely kicking the ball at the front door!’

      And hard, too. Kieron joined me at the window just as the second ‘hit’ landed. This time, however, it wasn’t the door we heard rattle. It was the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. ‘What the …?’ Kieron spluttered, before rushing out into the hall. I followed him, desperately hoping that it had been an unfortunate accident, but knowing, without a doubt, that it was not.

      ‘Kieron!’ I said, as he yanked the front door open, ‘just stay calm, love. Let’s see what he has to say for himself first.’ Too late.

      ‘I saw that!’ Kieron shouted at Tyler, as I surveyed the puddle of broken glass shards that had rained down from the side panel of my front door. ‘You kicked that ball at that pane of glass on purpose!’

      ‘Did I fuck!’ Tyler responded. ‘You want your eyes testing! God,’ he added, stabbing a tightly balled fist into each hip, ‘see what I mean? I get the blame for everything in this shit-hole!’

      Kieron skewered him on the end of a premier-league scowl and hoicked a thumb behind him. ‘Get inside right now!’ he said. ‘And don’t think I won’t pick you up and bring you in,’ he added.

      At which point I decided to intervene. I didn’t want the neighbours’ curtains twitching at my latest drama, but nor did I want Tyler antagonising my son. ‘There’ll be no need to do that, love,’ I said quietly to Kieron. ‘Tyler, get in here, now! I mean it.’

      But if I thought my own brand of hard talking would do the trick, I was wrong. ‘Fuck off, you fat bitch!’ he yelled back, leaving me stunned. Fat? I knew I’d put on a few pounds in the last year or so (sympathy eating for two and spending too much time with hungry grandsons), but at just under ten stone I preferred to think I was pleasantly plump – at the very worst. Cheeky little sod! But I barely had time to reply when my son barged past me and made a grab for him. ‘In here! Now!’ he said, gripping Tyler firmly by his right shoulder, clearly offended by the weight-slur on my behalf. And if that surprised me, I was totally gobsmacked by what happened next. The 11-year-old whirlwind whirled and, despite the difference in their heights, managed to land a punch that hit Kieron firmly on the chin. Clearly taken aback, Kieron nevertheless held on while Tyler tried to capitalise on his advantage by kicking him in the shins. If it wasn’t so horrifying it would have been comical. Kieron, my six foot three beanpole of a son, was skipping around, trying to fend off kicks, punches and bites, while this little scrap of a kid gave it everything he had. And not just physically – he was giving his all vocally as well, turning the air blue with his colourful language.

      ‘Get off me, you shitty bastard!’ he screamed as Kieron held on. ‘Get your fucking hands off me, you cunt!’

      I was mesmerised, I think, but thoughts of the neighbours again roused me, and I plunged in to try and separate them without delay. ‘Tyler!’ I yelled as I grabbed him by the hoodie. ‘Stop that right now and get inside, you hear me?’

      It took some tugging but I eventually managed to get him away and pin both his arms to his sides. I leaned in then, and spoke quietly, close to his face. ‘I swear, Tyler,’ I hissed. ‘I won’t be telling you this again. Get in that house and go to your room. This is your last chance.’

      I meant it too. Right then, I did, anyway. We’d had him a scant week and a bit, and, though it was entirely out of character, I could easily see myself calling John and telling him we’d changed our minds. It was so unlike me, but, when I considered it (coolly, as Tyler stood there and scowled at me) I realised that he hadn’t done a single tiny thing that would let me warm to him.

      Not that I expected him to do that consciously, of course I didn’t. But with almost every kid I’d ever dealt with, I could see past that. See the tiniest chink of something through their spiky, gnarly armour, sense the pain and the need for love in their bruised souls.

      And it was then – at that very moment – that finally I thought I glimpsed it. It was only fleeting; so swift that I could easily have missed it. But as he struggled from my grasp, it crossed his face. It was so subtle; just the tiniest jut of his chin, but I could read it. It said, Go on, then. Hate me. I’ve given you enough ammo now, haven’t I? It was enough – just – to remind me that he was like this for a reason. I let him go then, and he thundered up the stairs.

      I was shaking a little as I followed him back inside – I was clearly unused to the adrenalin rush. ‘Oh, Kieron,’ I said, as he bent down to start picking up the larger glass shards, ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. I just can’t believe it,’ I called back, running into the kitchen to get the dustpan. ‘I really can’t, honestly. Are you okay, love?’

      Kieron surprised me then, by shrugging it off, and even smiling at me. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Mum, you forget. I deal with little tykes like that every flipping day.’

      Which couldn’t be true – either that, or his school had serious discipline issues – but it was still a reminder that my little boy wasn’t a little boy any more and no longer quite as vulnerable.

      ‘I know you do,’ I said anyway, ‘but you don’t need that sort of thing when you’re here, do you?’

      He took the dustpan. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Probably did him good. I think he at least has my measure now, don’t you?’

      I looked at the broken window pane. How much was that going to cost to replace? One thing was for sure – this boy needed some swift and serious input. So come Monday, I thought grimly as we cleared the last of the glass, he’s going to have my bloody measure, too.

Chapter 5

      With our ‘pre’-placement meeting scheduled for nine thirty (what had possessed me?) it was a mad dash just getting back from dropping Tyler off at high school, let alone making anything like the sort of domestic effort I’d have wanted to before John and Tyler’s new social worker descended on me.

      It was another Thursday – I could hardly believe it had been a full fortnight we’d had Tyler now – and the house felt not so much messy as ‘invaded’. And not just by the enormous chart – already filling up with ticks and numbers – that now spanned the entire top door of the fridge-freezer. No, we were experiencing an advanced case of ‘child-creep’. I’ve always been a bit OCD about cleaning – something I probably inherited from my mother – and one thing our extended period without a child staying had done was to furnish me with some pretty big rose-tinted glasses. Forget the wall-to-wall tension, the shouting and the equally noisy stony silences – how had it slipped my mind what a huge a difference in the domestic workload one 11-year-old boy could make? Particularly one who was so volatile. And life had already felt something of a whirlwind, in any case, even without the one-child tornado now residing with us. Dad was well on the mend, but I still needed to help Mum with a lot of the day-to-day domestics, and I was very conscious that Riley also had a lot on her plate, so I was trying to juggle hurricane Tyler with the twin mini-typhoons that were my grandsons. Another thing I’d forgotten was quite how many ‘runs’ were involved in Levi and Jackson’s school, nursery and social commitments, and it was all I could do to draw breath.

      I took a deep one now as I turned the car into the drive and found my eye inescapably drawn to the still taped-up glass panel at the side of my front door. And in doing so, I yet again asked myself the same question – had СКАЧАТЬ