Casey Watson - Too Hurt to Stay

To my wonderful and supportive family

Contents

They always say a change is as good as a rest, dont they? And lets face it, who wants to put their feet up and do nothing all day long? Not me.

Which was just as well. It was mid-August, a time of year where rest tends to be high on the agenda, but as I hefted my number one grandson from his car seat, my principal thought was fat chance.

I didnt like to admit it, because at forty-three I was young for a granny, but four hours in town with my daughter Riley and her two little ones had exhausted me. Not that I hadnt asked for it. Id been itching to spend more time with Levi and Jackson, so I had no business moaning and groaning about it. And besides, I well remembered how tiring it was being a young mum with two little ones to run around after; with Levi almost three now and Jackson just six months old, Riley had her work cut out.

And I remembered how tiring childcare could be better than most grannies, maybe. Wed just said goodbye to our last foster children, and though at ten and seven Ashton and Olivia hadnt exactly been toddlers, they had certainly been as challenging as little ones. As with all the kids we took, these had been profoundly damaged children, so caring for them had definitely taken its toll.

God, I could kill for a coffee, I told Riley as we got the kids indoors and settled them in the living room with some toys.

You sit down, she said. Ill deal with the drinks. But almost as soon as Id lowered myself and the baby into an armchair with a picture book, the phone rang. Levi shot to his feet.

Which meant I had to be quick. He was three now and his most favourite thing at the moment was to chat on the phone. Needless to say, he beat me to it.

Hiya! he was babbling into the receiver. Hiya! Lub you! Then his usual follow-up. Okay, then. Byeee!

I gently prised the receiver from him, despite his indignant protests, and hoped whoever was on the end hadnt already hung up. Happily he hadnt it was John Fulshaw, our fostering-agency link worker though hed been about to. Thought Id dialled a wrong number, he chuckled. Either that or you were doing a bit of moonlighting. Thought youd wanted a break!

Its Levi, I told him. And this is my break. Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure?

My, hes growing up fast, John said. Then he cleared his throat. It was a sign I knew of old. A sign that invariably meant that the tone of the conversation was about to change.

So? I asked.

So, talking of breaks, he continued, well, I just wondered how adamant you felt on that front?

Go on, I said slowly, while pulling a face at Riley. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, listening.

Well, John said again, obviously limbering up still, we just wondered what the chances were of you taking on another placement. Its not going to be long term

Yeah, right. Heard that one before, John.

No, this time Im sure of it. The plan here is for the child to be returned home to his family as soon as possible.

Which seemed odd. My husband Mike and I didnt do mainstream fostering. We were specialist carers, trained to deliver a behaviour-modification programme that was geared to helping the most profoundly damaged kids. These were kids that were too challenging to be fostered in the mainstream, and for whom the alternative was often the grim option of a secure unit. Theyd often been through the system childrens homes and foster homes already. We were very much the last-chance saloon for these unfortunates, our aim being to give them lots of love and firm boundaries, and in so doing improve their behaviour enough for them to be returned, not to their families that option was mostly long gone but to mainstream foster carers. That was what had just happened with Ashton and Olivia. So this situation was odd.

That sounds unusual, I told John.

Even more than you know, Casey. This kid whose name is Spencer, by the way is only eight, yet he took himself off to social services on his own just marched into their offices and demanded that they put him into care.

What? I said, laughing incredulously. So he goes in there, asks for a foster carer and thats it? Is that what youre saying?

Well, not exactly. This actually happened a few weeks ago. And was taken seriously, too. There was a suspicious-looking bruise on his wrist, which he wasnt really able to account for and neither was the father. Seems theres some sort of question mark in that regard about the mum. Anyway, naturally, its all been followed up. Social services, family support and so on. Theyve been trying to support the family, offering coping strategies and advice, but none of it appears to have worked so far. There are five children in the family, little Spencer being the third of them, and there dont seem to be any issues or problems with the others. Mums being treated for depression, apparently, but, bar this one child, the family are coping. Just not with Spencer. So thats where we are now.

Cant cope with him? Why ever not? You say hes eight, yes?

Thats right.

So what could an eight-year-old have possibly done thats so bad?

Not that much, from what I can see, except that theyve described him as almost feral. Had a yearning for the streets from a very young age. Running away all the time, even spending whole nights missing, and the parents say they simply dont know what to do with him any more. So now its turned on its head, really. Its them who are pressing, because they dont feel confident they can keep him safe any more.

Bloody hell, John. That sounds crazy. That young and they cant keep control of him?

Thats the story. And from what social services tell me, that really is the case. The other kids all appear absolutely fine.

So has he got mental-health problems? Psychological problems? What?

Im told not. The parents apparently told social services that they are at a loss themselves. They described him as vicious and abnormal, and claim he was born evil.

I balked at that. Honestly! Some people. Children werent born evil. I truly believed that. They got damaged by environment, circumstances, neglect. It was that which caused behaviour to spiral out of control. Not some evil gene. Id yet to meet a child who was born bad. I suspected I never would, either.

Okay, I said. And just when did you have in mind for this evil child to come to us?

Well, obviously, youll want to speak to Mike first, John answered. But if youre both in agreement, we could bring him over to meet you next Monday, with a view to him moving in that same week.

Ah, I thought. Mike. Then I tried not to think it, as the last words my husband had said to me that morning were how much he was looking forward to a few weeks of peace. Just the two of us. A proper recharge of our batteries, after what by anyones yardstick had been a rollercoaster of a year. And tonight, hed said, dont do a thing about dinner. Im ordering in a takeaway, a nice bottle of your favourite wine, a few candles

Oh dear, I thought. Oh dear.

John went on to explain that Spencer was currently staying with another specialist carer temporarily. Her name was Annie and I knew her vaguely. She was in her mid-fifties, and I seemed to remember hearing on the grapevine that shed recently lost her husband, poor thing. Because of this, and the fact that she was considering retirement soon anyway, she had asked to be considered only as a respite carer now; just stepping in when full-time foster carers needed a few days break. Which was why, John finished, it was important they move Spencer on quickly. I could almost hear him crossing his fingers.