Too Hurt to Stay: The True Story of a Troubled Boy’s Desperate Search for a Loving Home. Casey Watson

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СКАЧАТЬ said John, finally. ‘How about that tour, then? Okay, Mike?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ Mike agreed, rising from the table. ‘C’mon, lad,’ he said to Spencer. ‘Let me show you and Glenn around.’

      But perhaps I should have sensed something. Because it was only a matter of seconds before the atmosphere changed completely, Annie turning in her seat to speak to John directly. ‘Now then,’ she said, looking agitated. ‘You do know that I need to know today, don’t you?’ It took me a second to work out what she was talking about. But it soon became clear. ‘That was the deal, you remember? If they don’t want him –’ she had the grace to glance in my direction as she said this – ‘then you do understand I’m not prepared to wait for you to find someone else, don’t you?’

      I was shocked. And so, I think, was John. We all knew Spencer’s placement with Annie was only temporary, but she seemed almost aggressive about demanding to be shot of him. ‘Annie, you know today’s only an introductory meeting,’ John said levelly. ‘And I certainly never promised you an answer today. Casey and Mike have only agreed to consider it.’

      Annie heaved a decidedly heavy sigh. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said, addressing me now, ‘I know I shouldn’t be pushing, but I really can’t cope with kids like this any more. Years ago, then fine. But these days I’m on my own, and sadly …’ She finished then, punctuating her words with a resigned shrug.

      ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but, well, he seems okay to me. I mean he’s obviously on his best behaviour, but the real child always …’

      ‘Oh, don’t let his “little angel” act fool you!’ she answered, her tone sharp. ‘This kid, believe me, is one of a kind. He’s like no kid I have ever met before in my life. No, honestly,’ she added, obviously seeing my sceptical expression, ‘I can’t begin to try and describe what I mean, but there’s definitely something not right about him, trust me.’

      This brought me slightly up short. I’d had as much said to me before. About Justin, the first boy we’d ever fostered. And we’d done well to heed the warning. Though everything worked out in the end, we’d certainly been through the mill with him. But if that was the case with Spencer, so be it. Annie didn’t know it, of course, but her words made no difference. I’d decided to take him the minute I saw him. And I was 99 per cent sure Mike felt the same. Even so, it was good – and I braced myself mentally – to have some insight that was not at first apparent.

      The others came back then, and we rounded off the meeting by gathering a little more logistical info. We were told Spencer’s likes and dislikes, and that he attended a special school that was geared to children who had difficulties in the ‘mainstream’. I knew what this meant, from the years I’d spent in education myself. It was flowery language to describe an institution for the sort of kids who’d been kicked out of regular schools, and probably more than one, too. I glanced at John. We didn’t comment. We didn’t need to.

      But even with that knowledge on board, I just couldn’t believe that inside this child lurked a little monster. Once again, as he left, he was unfailingly polite, thanking us both for having him and saying how nice it was to meet us. ‘An’ I really hope you decide to let me live here,’ he finished, ‘cos I love that bedroom and your enormous big telly.’

      ‘He seems fine,’ whispered Mike as we stood on the doorstep and waved the car off.

      ‘I know,’ I whispered back. ‘He’s just so cute. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

      ‘You even need to ask me?’

      So we didn’t make Annie wait. We called John back the same afternoon. We’d happily take him off her hands the following Monday.

       Chapter 3

      Spencer’s suitcase was bulging.

      Which was something that immediately struck me as symbolic. The last kids we’d fostered had arrived with barely anything; just a tatty old bin bag containing clothes that looked like rags. Yet the battered, broken doll that had also been buried in there was as precious to little Olivia as would be any other cherished toy. The luggage a child came with, as I was fast learning, spoke volumes – the things a child dragged from placement to placement meant everything to them. Be it a favourite photograph, a special toy, or a crumpled letter from a loved one, these belongings were often the only attachment a child had, and gave them a sense that they were still a part of something wider than the place where they had currently ended up.

      ‘Good grief, Spencer!’ Glenn exclaimed, as he dragged the case over the doorstep. ‘Come on, own up. You’ve smuggled the kitchen sink into here, haven’t you?’

      Spencer glanced up at me as if expecting to be reprimanded. ‘I got lots of stuff,’ he explained. ‘But it’s mostly just my trainers and all my games for the DS that’s making it heavy.’

      I didn’t know what a DS was, and said so. Spencer obligingly got the portable game console out of his backpack to show me, while Glenn commented that of all the things in Spencer’s life this was the one thing he couldn’t live without.

      I smiled and nodded while he shyly showed me all the things it could do, but it was an indicator that I’d been at this job for a while now that my immediate thought was a cynical one: this would be my bargaining tool. Sad though it was, to be able to modify the behaviour of challenging children, such a tool was your most potent weapon. It was the things they loved most that they would be most motivated to stay in line for, so the DS would soon have a subtle change in status. Spencer would have to see it as a privilege and not a right.

      But that was for writing into Spencer’s behaviour plan, not for today. Today was all about welcoming him to our family, and trying to quell his understandable anxiety.

      And he did look terribly anxious today. Because my kitchen and dining room were separated only by an archway and an island of worktops, I could keep an eye on things while everybody settled at the dining table, and I rustled up the drinks and biscuits. It had become something of a ritual, this, I realised, since I’d begun fostering. The dining-table meetings and the round of refreshments, the wide-eyed child, the various official adults, the slight edge of formality. I watched Spencer take his seat beside Glenn, his social worker, and how he pulled it close enough so that the two of them were almost touching. I also noticed he had something in his hand that I’d not seen at first. Perhaps he’d pulled it out of his pocket.

      ‘Who’s this, then?’ I asked him, as I brought the tray of coffees in, plus the usual array of biscuits, which he eyed but didn’t touch. Close up I could see it was a glove puppet.

      ‘Fluffy Cow,’ he said. Which seemed apt. That’s what it was.

      ‘Fluffy Cow is Spencer’s favourite toy, isn’t it, mate?’ Glenn explained. ‘He likes to take it to bed with him, don’t you?’

      I could see Spencer stiffen slightly. ‘I don’t play with it or owt,’ he said. ‘It just stays on my bed.’

      ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Here, love. Help yourself to a biscuit. And I tell you what, we’ve got to do a whole load of boring paperwork. So how about you take Fluffy Cow up to see your new bedroom? There’s some new toys up there for you, so you might like to have a little play. But only if you want to,’ I finished. ‘It’s entirely up to you.’

      Spencer СКАЧАТЬ