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

See, I told myself again, popping out to the conservatory for a cigarette. I needed to have kids in. Without that challenge I just felt so redundant.

Having convinced myself that Mike would understand, I went back inside, grabbed the book I’d bought in town and started half-heartedly reading the first few pages. But I was barely taking in the words and was happy to fling it on the sofa as soon as I heard the sound of Mike’s car.

‘Hi, babes – how was your day?’ I gushed, planting a kiss on his cheek as he walked into the hall. He was carrying the promised wine in one hand, and a big bunch of red roses – my favourite – in the other. ‘Oh!’ I cried, feeling even more guilty than ever. ‘They’re gorgeous. What an unexpected pleasure! Come on, let me put the kettle on and make you a nice mug of coffee.’

‘Casey,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘What have you done? Have you been out buying handbags? Come on. Own up.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, love,’ I trilled. ‘You’re so suspicious. Can’t I even be nice to you without you thinking there’s an ulterior motive?’

His expression remained the same. ‘Er … no. Not this nice.’

I flicked on the kettle and pulled a vase from the cupboard. ‘Honestly,’ I said, feigning great offence. ‘That’s so not fair. Though … um … I do have something I need to ask you.’

I had hoped this might sound like something of an unrelated afterthought, but my husband, who knew me as well as my kids did, was not fooled in the least.

‘Here we go,’ he said, plonking himself down at the kitchen table while I fussed about unwrapping the flowers and trying not to blush. ‘Go on, then,’ he finished. ‘Let’s have it.’

So I told him pretty much everything John had told me, gently skimming over the ‘born evil’ section, and making a great deal of the ‘oh, I’m soooo bored’ part.

Then I held my breath, waiting for the verdict. Which wasn’t quite as immediately understanding as I’d hoped.

‘Oh, Casey, please love. Not yet,’ Mike said, with genuine feeling. ‘It’s only been two bloody minutes since the dog left home, let alone the last two kids. Can’t we have a bit of a breather? Isn’t there someone else who could take this on?’

I knew he had a point. It really had only felt like two minutes. And though I missed Bob – he was our son Kieron’s dog, and had now gone to live with him and his girlfriend Lauren, at her parents – I knew the point that Mike was making was that for the first time in over two decades we had no one and nothing to worry about bar ourselves. There were the grandchildren, of course, but in terms of our home life … well, it was a first, and I could see what he was saying.

But I was on a mission and there was no way I was going to give up so easily. I had the bit between my teeth now. This child needed me. And having no one to worry about, to my mind, was overrated. Mike had his job as a warehouse manager, which involved some long hours, I understood that – but what was I supposed to do? I tried tugging, very gently, on his heart strings.

‘So you’re saying no?’ I asked, sorrowfully. ‘Is that it? I have to tell John they’ll have to just dump him in a children’s home?’

‘That’s not fair, Case,’ he said levelly. ‘And don’t use words like “dump” on me, either. You know who I’m thinking about here. You. I’ll be at work,’ he pointed out. ‘It’s you that’ll have to cope. And I seem to remember it wasn’t too long ago that you were telling me just how much you were looking forward to being able to have a great deal more quality time with your own grandchildren.’

‘I know,’ I said, stabbing the stems into the vase distractedly. ‘But I can do both. It’s just one little boy, Mike. And I’m so bored. I really am –’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, I soon will be, anyway. You know that. I can’t rattle around here with nothing to do. I’ll go stir crazy …’

‘And what about our holiday? I thought we were going to have a few days away?’

‘We still can. There’s respite, don’t forget.’ I put down the stem I was holding, and crossed the kitchen. I put the wine bottle in the fridge – it would need chilling, after all – then I went back to the table and sat on his knee. With me at five foot nothing and Mike at six foot three, it was one of the few ways I could look him in the eye, on his level. ‘Will you just think about it?’ I asked him. ‘Please? Anyway, we don’t need a holiday. Look out of the window. It’s just gorgeous. We can sunbathe in the garden. Pretty please?’

His eyes narrowed again, but I could see it was a different kind of narrowing. One that said ‘here we go’ as opposed to ‘no, you don’t’.

‘You’re not going to let this drop,’ he said. ‘Are you?’

‘What do you think?’ I answered.

Job done.

In the end we had a Mexican, drank the whole bottle of wine and watched an old favourite movie of ours, American Werewolf in London. ‘Well, you did say this lad’s a bit feral,’ Mike quipped. ‘So we can look upon this as a bit of prior research.’

Thematically, though, perhaps it should have been Apocalypse Now, for it signalled the end of our ‘peace and quiet’ time, for sure. But I didn’t mind. I went to bed that night feeling a very happy bunny. I couldn’t wait to see what Monday had in store.

Chapter 2 (#uc607c84b-48cb-547b-851d-0adaddac6dea)

I decided I would spend the rest of the weekend trying to be extra nice to Mike, as a thank you. Now he’d agreed we could take Spencer – provided the meeting went well, at any rate – I was fizzing with energy and excitement.

‘Morning, love!’ I trilled brightly, as I perched on the edge of the bed, bearing a tray groaning under the weight of a full English breakfast.

Mike stretched and eyed the tray of food suspiciously. I’d let him have a sleep in while I’d sneaked downstairs to cook it, and had been surprised that the smell of bacon frying hadn’t already woken him.

‘I’ve already agreed we can meet Spencer,’ he said. ‘So what is it –’ he met my eye – ‘that you’re after now?’

‘Honestly,’ I said, crossing the room to fling open the curtains and let in the sunshine. ‘I’m just being nice, okay, grumpy drawers! Look, I’ve made all your favourite things for you, as well. Even those fancy sausages with bits in that you like.’

He nodded. ‘I can see that. So, go on, what are you after?’

I grinned. ‘Well, I was thinking, since it’s such a lovely day, that we should, I don’t know, go out somewhere, maybe.’

‘As in where?’ he said, picking up his cutlery and tucking in.

‘Oh, I don’t mind. Anywhere you like, love,’ I answered. ‘Just a day trip. You know me. As long as there are some shops, I don’t mind.’

‘Ah,’ he said, spearing a piece of sausage and waggling it, ‘what you really mean, then, is that you’d like me to take you shopping to buy stuff for a kid that we haven’t even met yet. Am I right?’

‘Well …’

Mike laughed. ‘Honestly, love,’ he said, ‘never become a con-woman. Subterfuge is not one of your finer attributes.’

So I was busted. But I didn’t care, because for all his sarky comments Mike was happy enough with my plan. So we drove to a pretty village about 20 miles away, had a walk and a lovely pub lunch, then hit the gorgeous little high street, which was full of two of my favourite things, charity shops and toy shops. So while Mike, bless him, trudged uncomplainingly behind me, I was able to pick up bargains galore.

At eight, Spencer was only a little younger than Ashton, our last boy, so I worked on the basis that he would probably enjoy similar things. I bought a pile of books, some Lego, new jigsaws and a few puzzles, as well as restocking the box of craft items I liked to keep in the house. And though he raised his eyebrows on more than one occasion, Mike refrained from passing judgement on my probably over-the-top haul.

And to my delight, the rest of the family indulged me as well. On the Sunday (so much for living the quiet life once your kids leave …) we had the whole family over for a big roast. Kieron and Lauren, Riley and David, plus my two gorgeous grandsons, all of whom seemed happy to accept the reality that I was always at my happiest when I had a child to look after, however much of a challenge that child might turn out to be.

‘Mind you,’ commented Kieron as we sat down at the table, ‘have you noticed how differently she does it these days, sis? You remember how she was when I pinched that lolly when I was little? How she dragged me back to the shop and made me give it back and apologise in front of everyone? And then I got grounded as well?’

‘Quite right, too!’ I chipped in.

‘Yeah, Mum …’ He lifted a finger to forestall me. ‘But imagine if one of these foster kids did that. Oh no, it would be all, “Oh, dear me, that’s not acceptable behaviour. I’m afraid you lose ten points today, dear.”’

Riley snorted. ‘So this is since Mum became Scottish, then, is it?’

I laughed too. Whenever Kieron did a ‘Mum’ impersonation, for some reason he always made me sound just like Miss Jean Brodie, adopting this bizarre, high-pitched, Scottish twang. ‘Hey, you two, don’t mock, okay?’ I retorted through my giggles. ‘I have to do that. It’s called guidelines, and I have to follow them. It’s not the same as with your own kids.’

We were all falling about laughing, but this, in fact, was true. Where I’d come down like a ton of bricks with my own two when they were little – that was what parenting was all about, wasn’t it? – it was different with children who had profound behaviour issues, and who were way past the point where being marched round to apologise to someone would be of any benefit at all. Indeed, for some kids it would be counter-productive. These kids needed a whole different approach if they were to make progress. And a structured one, of the kind we’d been trained to deliver. The children would indeed earn points for good behaviour, and once they’d earned them they could then spend them on privileges. It was all about modifying their behaviour to make it acceptable, and in such a way that they could see the benefit in this. If they did as they were asked they would enjoy a nicer life. It really was as simple a lesson to learn as that. And when delivered within an environment that was warm and supportive, the programme was so far proving to be a great success.

And that was what it sounded like this little boy needed, I mused, as, before going to bed that night, I popped in to open Spencer’s bedroom window and fluff up the pillows on the bed I had already made up. Love and boundaries. We could certainly give him that while we had him. Though I’d obviously have to watch out for that comedy Scottish accent.

* * *

For all my excitement, I was still nervous when I woke up on Monday morning. Didn’t matter how much I looked forward to getting these foster kids, there was always that anxiety about the first meeting with them because you never knew what to expect. The child could absolutely hate you from the start, or you’d click; you’d make a connection at that point or you wouldn’t. Not that I worried unduly. Spencer was our fifth child now, so the one thing I did know was that I didn’t find it difficult to put feelings aside. As a foster carer your job was to put differences aside, to care for the children you took on regardless of how they were towards you, and get on with the job at hand. Luckily, so far, though it had been rocky in places, I’d formed a strong attachment with the previous children we’d looked after. I hoped today was to be no exception.