A Boy Without Hope: Part 2 of 3

A Boy Without Hope: Part 2 of 3
Casey Watson

A BOY WITHOUT HOPE is the heart-breaking story of a boy who didn’t know the meaning of love. A history of abuse and neglect has left Miller destined for life’s scrap heap. But in this turbulent story of conflict and struggle, Casey Watson is determined to help Miller overcome his demons, show him love and give him hope.Casey Watson is back, doing the job she does best – rolling up her sleeves and fostering the children who, on first meeting, seem like hopeless cases. But when she meets Miller and discovers the truth about his disturbing childhood, even Casey begins to doubt if this child will ever be able to accept love.Found naked and alone on a railway track, Miller was just five when he was first admitted into the care system. Emotionally tormented by his biological parents, Miller has never understood how to establish meaningful relationships, and his destructive past, and over 20 failed placements, is sealing his fate in society’s social scrap heap.After a torrent of violent behaviour and numerous failed attempts to help Miller, Casey decides to make an intervention, implementing a severe regime that strips Miller of all control. But soon the emotional demands of Miller’s case start to take their toll on Casey and Mike. Just how far is Casey willing to go to help Miller and save him from his inner demons?

Copyright (#u39bd70f7-8c8a-5260-abe8-547df8d7ad4a)

This is a work of non-fiction based on the author’s experiences. In order to protect privacy, names, identifying characteristics, dialogue and details have been changed or reconstructed.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2018

FIRST EDITION

© Casey Watson 2018

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Cover image © Jim Powell/Alamy Stock Photo (posed by model)

Cover layout © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Casey Watson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008298555

Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008298579

Version 2018-09-19

Contents

Cover (#u04976c09-23d9-57d9-b298-74b336fbb6b3)

Title Page (#u9d6e9822-8a75-535a-8a73-4e315c3f1405)

Copyright (#ue299c93f-8d0b-590f-82d0-2899c9cdc261)

Dedication (#u17cea247-8766-53fb-88f9-f526ba34daad)

Acknowledgements (#u6eb5353c-3200-5e77-9019-0ff50d71638f)

Chapter 8 (#u937dbd0f-52ca-5d51-9a41-5c20be806053)

Chapter 9 (#u0144b05c-7ca5-5702-a232-5df85829542b)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

This book is dedicated to the army of passionate foster carers out there, each doing their bit to ensure that our children are kept as safe as possible in such a changing and often scary world. As technology is reinvented and becomes ever more complicated for those of us who were not brought up amid such advances, we can only try to keep up, in the hope that we continue to learn alongside our young people.

Acknowledgements (#u39bd70f7-8c8a-5260-abe8-547df8d7ad4a)

I remain endlessly grateful to my team at HarperCollins for their continuing support, and I’m especially excited to see the return of my editor, the very lovely Vicky Eribo, and look forward to sharing my new stories with her. As always, nothing would be possible without my wonderful agent, Andrew Lownie, the very best agent in the world in my opinion, and my grateful thanks also to the lovely Lynne, my friend and mentor forever.

Chapter 8 (#u39bd70f7-8c8a-5260-abe8-547df8d7ad4a)

So. Casey nil. Miller – what must it be now? Around twelve? Because over the next dozen or so days, I had failed to make progress – either on getting him to sleep through the night, on any night, or in getting him out of the house.

Most frustratingly however, the rot was setting in, because, despite throwing everything at the problem, and pretty forcefully, I’d made little inroad in addressing the number-one issue: Miller’s obsession with staying in his room, playing computer games all the time. It would have been easy to regret having got him the PlayStation in the first place, but, in truth, without it, I don’t know how things would have panned out. Without it – and we rationed it regularly and frequently – he would simply get into bed and roll himself up in his duvet, and no form of inducement or threat of sanctions would winkle him out. We tried offering incentives, such as the purchase of a new game a few days hence, to reward good behaviour, but he seemed incapable of understanding the ‘jam tomorrow’ concept. Miller was only interested in the here and now. And if we tried sanctions – no getting the controller back until he spent an hour downstairs with us, say, watching TV together, getting to know each other – he would simply assert that he didn’t care if he never got it back; he was not ‘hanging out’ with us, and that was that.

In fact, the only time he seemed able to amuse himself differently was in the small hours of the night, when he’d while away his time playing with the assortment of distractions in his suitcase.

It was obvious that Miller had an addiction to playing computer games – and in that, he was far from alone. But I also had to factor in the control aspect of his make-up; with no one to control, because the household was asleep (well, in my case, more often than not, tactically feigning sleep), there was no incentive to exert his considerable will, because it would achieve nothing, manipulate no one.

It was also impossible, without him having a daily spell in formal education, to get him started on our strict behaviour modification programme, as so much of its effectiveness relied on the daily routines around education: getting up at a set time, getting washed, dressed and fed, then, in the evenings, doing any homework he’d been given without making a fuss, and going to bed at a time that had been agreed.

Without these simple daily rhythms – part and parcel of any childhood – we were in limbo, and had been for way too long a time now. It was only half-jokingly that I’d quipped to Mike one night that I half-wished he would bloody abscond.

Not that I’d been stuck in every day, all day. The day after Kieron’s visit, he’d been on a late shift, and had, to my immense gratitude, come over for the morning so I could have a couple of hours to myself. I’d like to have been able to report to Libby that this had proved a help to Miller, but, on my return it had been to hear that the nearest Kieron and Miller had got to ‘bonding’ was Miller’s grudging acceptance of Kieron sitting in his bedroom, and being ‘permitted’ to sit and watch him play his game.

‘Mum, he’s weird,’ had been Kieron’s considered view after spending a little time with him, echoing Tyler’s thoughts. ‘His face when he’s killing things is plain creepy.’