Chapter 11
To say that Tyler took the news badly was something of an understatement – even in response to the heavily edited version I’d decided to give him, following John’s directive not to completely dash his hopes.
‘You mean it wasn’t even about me going home?’ he demanded when I tried to explain that it was more of a progress report, really.
‘Not really, sweetie,’ I told him gently. ‘They just went round for a chat. That’s how things are done – just giving them an update, you know, to see how everyone’s feeling –’
‘Well, I’m feeling horrible,’ he said, digging an angry fist into each hip. ‘An’ no one ever asked me how I’m feeling, did they?’
‘I know, love,’ I said, sensing from his body language that this wasn’t the moment to try and give him a cuddle. He was too angry, too stiff, too appalled. ‘But I’m sure things will get sorted out soon,’ I tried to soothe, ‘and, hey, next week’s your birthday – how about we think about that instead, eh? Have you given any thought to what you’d like to do? How about that pool party we were talking about? Shall we have Will see what he can do for us? Only I’ve been looking on the internet and –’
‘I don’t care about my fucking stupid birthday!’ he yelled, the explosion of rage we’d mostly kept below a simmer for a good few weeks now bursting out of him. ‘That horrible witch has done for me!’ he spat. ‘I know she has! She always does! She’s told my dad I’m a pile of shit, otherwise I’d be home now, wouldn’t I? I fucking hate both of them!’ With which he turned on his heel and thundered up the stairs.
I stood there, slightly shocked, as his bedroom door slammed. And so hard it almost rattled out all my fillings. Then I was shocked at the business of being shocked. How could I have forgotten just how angry he could get?
I felt angry too. How else would he be expected to feel, frankly? He’d been abandoned and vilified and, however I tried to dress it up, he knew it. How could apparently normal adults care so little for the emotional damage they inflicted on children they were supposed to be taking care of? How could they be so cruelly resistant to the idea of giving – even just a little? How could they be so cold and hostile and sleep at night? I turned and followed Tyler up the stairs, knowing just how little I could say to make things better for him. Of course he was angry. I was bloody angry, too.
Luckily, we’d now hit the weekend. Which was a blessing, because though there wasn’t much I could do while Tyler adjusted to this new reality, what I could do was rally the troops. It wasn’t a universal panacea – for some kids, in some situations, it was the last thing I would have considered – but in this situation, with this newly distraught little boy, I sensed that I’d need the whole family to help get us through. So on the Saturday morning I invited Riley, David and the kids round for Sunday lunch, along with Kieron and Lauren, who’d been planning on coming anyway, and my mum and dad, to give them a break from cooking.
‘I just want to take Tyler’s mind off the situation at home for a bit,’ I explained to Riley – not that Riley needed any encouragement to agree to having someone else cook the roast – ‘and try to get him excited about his birthday while we’re at it. Right now, as far as he’s concerned, there’s not going to be a birthday. I haven’t a clue what to get him, much less think about planning a party.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ Riley reassured me, ‘the boys’ll soon cheer him up. And I’ll put Levi on a secret mission to find out what he’d most like. Course, he’ll probably come back with a long list of nonsense, but at least he’ll be distracted. That’s the main thing.’
I hoped she was right, though the signs weren’t encouraging when I went up to explain to Tyler the following morning that the whole family were descending in a couple of hours. ‘Well, they’d better not come up here and touch any of my stuff,’ he warned. ‘And I don’t want to have to listen to that baby wailing all day, neither.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Tyler,’ I said mildly, ‘Marley-Mae is just a baby. That’s how they communicate – you know that. What else are they supposed to do? When you feel bad you can tell someone – Marley Mae can’t do that.’
I paused then, wondering if it might be a good moment to suggest that a problem shared is a problem brought down to more manageable proportions. Since his short rant the previous day, he had clammed up completely, withdrawing into himself and refusing to venture out again. Mike and I had both tried, but he was resolutely in ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ mode now, and I knew there was no point in pressuring him till he was ready. So instead, I tutted. ‘Anyway, stop being a grump,’ I said. ‘You’ll enjoy it. In fact, why don’t you plan something you boys can all do, before they get here? Like make a big den, perhaps – you could make one in the garden, if you like. A great big one – they’d love that – and you could plan a game for it, too.’
Tyler rolled his eyes and pointedly picked up his football comic. ‘I don’t want to,’ he said, ‘and you can’t make me. They’re just babies. And I don’t want to play with babies. I want Grant,’ he railed then, suddenly animated, and throwing down the comic he’d just picked up. ‘If Grant was here we’d have proper fun, not have to play baby games!’
‘Yes, well,’ I said, conscious that he was trying to work us both up to another rant-fest, ‘you’ll see Grant in school tomorrow and you can have some fun then. In the meantime stop looking for excuses not to be happy, and come down and have some toast or something before they get here.’
‘God,’ he huffed. ‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes, you absolutely have to,’ I said firmly.
It’s never easy keeping a smile glued in place in the face of constant negativity, but I was determined to keep things relentlessly upbeat, even if it did mean I had jaw-ache by the end of the day. It seemed the only thing to do, in any case. There was very little we could do about Tyler’s situation, no, but what I knew we could do was give him something else to focus on – at least till such time as he felt able to sit down and process what his new future might hold.
It was a beautiful late summer day, and we spent almost all of it in the garden. I’d set up the garden dining furniture so that we could have our lunch al fresco and, as Tyler had shown no enthusiasm for my den-building idea, put out all the garden toys, including the giant Jenga and skittles.
Not that it was a pleasing scene of riotous outdoor fun. As I prepared lunch, chatting to Riley and Lauren in the kitchen – and, of course, gurgling at Marley Mae – the men were all in the living room watching some crucial football programme, Levi built up Jenga blocks and Jackson bounced on the trampoline, while Tyler watched from the sidelines, his hood over his head and a scowl on his face.
‘He’s worn it all day,’ I told Lauren when she commented on his black mood.
‘What, the hoodie or the frown?’ Riley said.
‘Both,’ I said. I knocked on the window, then, and opened it. ‘Tyler, go on, love,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you help Levi with the Jenga?’ and though he stood up and mooched over (he wasn’t stupid; he had lots of ‘being helpful’ points to earn if he wanted to keep his phone topped up) it was with about as much enthusiasm as if I’d asked him to put the bins out.
‘You know, I’d just leave him, Casey,’ Lauren said. ‘Let him wallow for a bit, feel sorry for himself. He’s a bright boy – he knows it’s not your fault he can’t go home. So sooner or later he’s bound to stop taking it out on you.’
Riley agreed, and perhaps they were both right. Keen as I was to keep up the assault of cheeriness and positivity, perhaps I should just let him withdraw a bit to lick his wounds.
For a bit, anyway. One thing I wasn’t going to allow to happen was for his birthday to pass under a cloud of misery – not on my watch. Given all I’d seen and heard of his family, I imagined no one had ever made much of a fuss of him on his birthday, and, if it was within my power, I was determined to break the cycle. However feeble the effort they made (and I didn’t doubt they would do very little more than observe the usual niceties), I could at least do that for him – give him a bunch of happy birthday memories to take away with him.
Course, it never occurred to me just how wrong I could be.
Dinner that day was a rowdy affair, what with so many of us crammed round my six-seater garden table, on various battered and different-sized chairs. But at least Tyler had, by that time, thawed slightly. He seemed happy to get involved with the boys’ usual gross jokes about their food, even laughing as Levi told him how sweetcorn always came out in his poo. Which was a touch rank, but at least helped ease the tension. And having roped in as many of the family as I could (Mike would have to be at work, sadly) I also felt more confident that by the time his birthday party came around the following Thursday he would be in the right frame of mind to enjoy it.
He certainly responded positively when I told him about it that evening. ‘Oh, my God!’ he raved, when I handed him some blank invitations. ‘You mean it? I can really have my own pool party? That’s epic! Oh my God!’
‘Yes, of course I mean it,’ I laughed. ‘All organised for after school this Thursday. All you need to do is decide which of your friends you’d like to invite. We can’t manage a whole classful, I’m afraid – too short notice. But if you can choose half a dozen friends, that would be fine. Your friend Cameron, too,’ I added. ‘If you’d like to.’
I’d agonised a little about that, what with him apparently being 15, but, right now, Tyler needed all the friends he could get. And this Cameron was clearly important in his life.
‘Oh my God,’ he said again. Perhaps I needed to pull him up on that – but not today. ‘Can I? He’d be made up! God, this will be great. And with the big inflatable and everything?’ I nodded. ‘Wowww. This’ll be my best ever party, ever. O.M.G. – just you wait till I tell Grant!’
Though this likelihood hadn’t escaped me, I still had to think on my feet. ‘That’s my plan,’ I said, smiling at him, ‘and I’m sure Grant would love to come. Though you might need to bear in mind that he might have something on already. I think I remember John mentioning something he might be doing this week when we talked about it … just to warn you. You know, in case. You know how things are – it’s all a bit short-notice, isn’t it? What with us just having had the summer holidays and everything …’
And I’d obviously kept it light enough to do the trick.
‘Oh, well,’ he said, flapping a dismissive hand, ‘if he can’t come he can’t come. Bet he will, though.’ He chuckled. ‘Like, doh – he wouldn’t want to cancel whatever he was doing?! He will so want to come. Oh, this is epic!’
I called John as soon as Tyler had left for school the following morning. Much as I was cheered by the turnaround in his mood by the end of the weekend, I was now really anxious that Grant not being allowed to go to his party would plunge him straight back to square one.
‘So I was wondering if you could do a bit more of your “interfering busybody from social services” act, and, if they’re dead set on refusing to allow Grant to go – which I’m assuming they will be – could they at least make an excuse or something about why?’
‘I can try,’ John said. ‘But the bottom line is that they’ll do what they like, won’t they? But look on the bright side: Tyler’s not stupid – he’ll know where it’s coming from. He’ll know it’s not Grant who’s rejecting him. He’ll know it’s his stepmum – it’s always been his stepmum. And as there’s no love lost there, that’s not going to rock his world in itself, is it?’
I agreed that, no, it wouldn’t. And thanked John for at least calling them and trying. But, boy, was I in for a surprise.
And that very afternoon, as well. It was just after three thirty when he rounded the corner, and his body language was already ringing warning bells. I’d been on pins a little, wondering what might or might not have transpired in school, and, in readiness – though I wasn’t sure how much help it would be, really – had prepared his favourite tea of pizza and fries, followed by apple pie and custard, which we’d eat together, just the two of us. Mike was going round to Kieron’s straight after school to do some fiddling with some recording equipment with him, so we would have the house to ourselves.
Seeing him now made my face fall – clearly something had happened – but I plastered a smile on as he came through the front door. ‘Hi, love,’ I said. ‘How’s you? How was school today?’
‘Humph!’ he said, as he peeled off his bag. His coat was already in a twizzle round the shoulder strap, and I took both from him, separating them as he yanked down the hem of his school shirt and placed his angry fists once again on his hips. ‘Humph!’ he huffed again.
I went into the kitchen, and he followed.
‘Go on,’ I said, ‘spit it out.’
‘Casey,’ he said, ‘you will never guess what. Our Grant. He can go do one as far as I’m concerned. I have totally, totally had it with him.’
‘What happened, love?’ I asked, fearing the worst.
‘I never had a chance to give him the invitation, even!’ he thundered. ‘He just came straight up to me at first break and started having this big go at me! Said I’d really upset Mum – his mum, I told him that right off. Said she was fed up with me telling lies about her – me! – an’ that Dad was fuming. Said I was bringing so much shit down on their heads and that I was to stop being a twat or he wouldn’t speak to me any more. And he was the one who said “twat”, Casey. Not me.’ He paused only to take in air. ‘Can you believe that?’
‘No, love, I can’t,’ I said, even though as soon as he’d said it I really could. Of course this would happen – I should have realised. Divide and rule, wasn’t it? But this was not the place to be fanning fires or increasing acrimony. ‘But something must have happened, mustn’t it? For Grant to say things like that to you. He’s your little brother. He loves you. He –’
‘I know what’s happened,’ Tyler barked, looking worryingly like he might soon reprise his raging bull persona. ‘I know exactly what’s happened. It’s John and Will going round, isn’t it? She’ll have gone mad, wouldn’t she? Started lying about me again, like she always does – and she’ll have done it. She’ll have told him loads of bad shit about me and told him I gotta fuck off out their lives. That’s what’s happened!’
‘Oh, love,’ I began.
‘Yeah, an’ that’s fine by me,’ he spat. ‘Cos you know what? I never, not ever, thought Grant would believe it. He’s even seen some of the shitty things she’s done to me – he knows!’ He paused to inhale again, two pink spots flaming on his cheeks now. ‘So I never gave it him. I told him I’d like to stick his party invitation where the sun doesn’t shine. I gave it to Danny Ellis in year 9 instead – and I wasn’t even planning on inviting him, cos he’s only Cam’s friend really, but I was that mad I did! Honest, Casey – I really was. I was that mad!’
I nodded my understanding, but didn’t go to put my arms around him. He was angry rather than tearful and I felt he’d probably shake me off, and a part of me felt glad that Grant had roused his anger rather than made him cry – in some way, it made the rejection feel less like a rejection – as the power (the power of the pool party invite, now withdrawn) had been firmly in Tyler’s hands. I was also gladdened by the level of his emotional intelligence. Despite his fury, he had understood that Grant’s treatment of him had a very defined root, in the shape of Alicia and the seeds she’d planted in her brother’s mind. All of which was good, and would help him on the journey he had to make. But, damn them, it was rejection, all the same.
‘Oh, sweetie,’ I said, ‘that’s not very nice, is it? But, hey, you have your friends coming and you’ll have a great party, and it’s his loss. But you know,’ I said, risking placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘your Grant’s like piggy in the middle a bit here, isn’t he? I’ll bet your parents – I mean, Alicia and your dad – have been giving him a bit of a hard time, and he’s stuck not knowing which way to turn. He’s bound to feel he has to be loyal to them, but he also wants to be a good brother … it can’t be easy for him, all this, can it?’
‘They’re not my parents.’
‘I know … I’m sorry, love.’
‘She never was anyway and he’s not no more, either. I’m not bothered no more anyway. Forget ’em. Forget them all. And you can tell them – whatever they send round for me on Thursday, I don’t want it, okay? They can stick their birthday presents up their arses!’
And with that decisive comment – grimly echoing what his father had said only a few days previously – Tyler rolled up his shirtsleeves and yanked out a kitchen chair. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’m starving. What’s for tea?’