‘Sammy the Dwarf?’ Mike said as I slid a couple of frozen pizzas into the oven. ‘Seriously?’
I’d regaled him with the key points of our all too brief outing, and, like me, he was inclined to see the funny side. And, to be fair, by the time we were home the mood had lightened considerably, Connor getting over his strop – and the telling off he got for it – by responding to Tyler’s comment not by maintaining his aggression but by seeming keen to appease him. Indeed, he’d become very chatty, regaling us with a potted history of his diminutive circus mentors, who it turned out had been quite key figures in his young life.
‘A drinking friend of his dad’s,’ I explained to Mike now. ‘Him and someone called Lydia, aka the ‘Porn Queen of South London’ by all accounts. Seems they used to look after him a fair bit when Connor’s dad was out “working”.’
‘By which you presumably mean “robbing”,’ Mike observed drily. ‘And by the sound of it, he’s spent a fair bit of time with that father of his down the years, hasn’t he?’ He shook his head. ‘No wonder he’s such a delicate soul, eh? You couldn’t make it up, could you?’
But though the situation had been defused and Connor was once again contrite, I still felt a seed of anxiety growing within me about what was going to happen to him long term. What would happen if they didn’t find a place for him on Monday? Did I ask them to collect him anyway? In reality, were we acting like we were playing pass the parcel? Having torn off a sheet of him, were we simply pushing him on to the next foster carer?
In truth, I hoped they’d have a place for Connor, and coming face to face with that fact really upset me. I’d never thought like that before about any child we’d cared for, not even a scrawny eight-year-old with so little going for him. And it wasn’t as if I was inexperienced with kids who were angry, disobedient and out of control. They were my stock-in-trade, even when they were trying their hardest to be unlovable. No, there was something else about Connor; something in the core of his being. Something I’d yet to put my finger on.
But if I thought I’d have a minute’s peace to mull over my concerns I was wrong.
Once we’d all been fed, I decided I needed to burn off some excess energy as well, and in the time-honoured fashion. So, Mike having elected to slope off and build some flat-pack furniture with Kieron, I told the boys they could have the living room to themselves for a couple of hours.
Satisfied that I’d made myself clear, I then left them to it while I tackled the dinner plates and then pulled my cleaning stuff out of the kitchen cupboard. I smiled as I donned my Marigolds. I was quite looking forward to a spot of ‘me’ time, even if the ‘me’ in question was donning rubber gloves and squirting various cleaning sprays.
But I should have remembered that the phrase ‘five minutes’ peace’ hadn’t been turned into the title of a book for no reason. Yes, it was probably longer than that, but it certainly didn’t feel a lot longer before I heard thumps and bangs and shouts coming from the living room. I yanked off the Marigolds and went to investigate.
We usually kept the big double doors opened fully back so that the living and dining areas merged into one much bigger space, but to create some privacy for all – particularly given this particular fraught weekend – I had closed them earlier, giving us two separate rooms. I opened both. ‘What’s going on in here?’ I wanted to know. ‘What’s all the noise for?’ I had to shout to be heard above the noise of the blaring television.
Which neither seemed to be sitting and watching. Indeed, neither boy was sitting at all. Tyler was standing behind the sofa, both hands gripping the headrest, while Connor was standing in front of it, looking cartoonishly frozen in mid-sprint, as if in a party game someone had just shouted ‘Freeze!’
I ignored him and looked at Tyler. ‘Ty, what’s going on?’
‘It’s that little idiot,’ Tyler replied, jabbing a finger in Connor’s direction. ‘Just because I wouldn’t play his stupid “smack-each-other-round-the-head-with-cushions” game.’ He pointed to his book, which was lying open at the other end of the sofa. ‘So he ripped a page out of that and then ran round the furniture with it. Idiot! You’re gonna pay for that. That’s a school book, that is!’
‘No I never, you fucking tourist!’ Connor yelled back. ‘I was minding me own beeswax an’ you just belted me one. That’s why I ripped your stupid book!’
I could see the rage in Tyler’s face. ‘He’s a liar, Casey!’ he yelled, running around the sofa to try to grab his tormentor. But he was too slow, Connor deftly leaping up onto the coffee table and vaulting the sofa in a single bound.
‘Right!’ I shouted, using an arm to block Tyler from attempting to hurdle it, too. I used my free hand to grab the remote and switch off the racket blaring from the TV. The resulting silence was deafening. ‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ I said, throwing the remote down on the sofa. ‘In fact, Connor, you can forget your bath. Go to your bedrooms, the pair of you.’
‘What?’ Tyler huffed indignantly. ‘What did I do?’
‘To your rooms,’ I said again. ‘And get your pyjamas on, please, Connor.’
‘Ain’t got none,’ came the answer.
‘Yes you have,’ I replied. ‘There’s a pair folded on your bed. Go on. Hoppit!’ I finished. ‘I’ll be up to speak to you both in five minutes.’
‘But Casey –’ Tyler began again. ‘I never did anything, I swear!’
I didn’t doubt that at all, and felt extremely sorry for Tyler. But at that moment I could see no other right way to act. Not till I’d spoken to them individually, at any rate. To focus my recriminations on Connor now would be to play right into his hands. It was a case of one’s word against the other’s, after all, and to accept Tyler’s without question would be unfair. No, we’d go through the motions and I’d make things right with Tyler when I went to speak with him.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ I said, ‘but until I get to the bottom of it, I need you both to go to your rooms. I’ll be up in a minute and we can talk.’
Tyler stomped out, his cheeks ablaze, and Connor watched him go, before adopting his usual swagger and following suit. But not before delivering what he’d obviously been preparing as his parting shot. Looking me up and down in a way I can only describe as pitying, he turned in the doorway and rolled his eyes. ‘I’m a celebrity,’ he drawled. ‘Get me outta this dump!’
Tyler had put his own pyjamas on, even though I hadn’t asked him to, and looked the picture of gloom as he sat on the bed, a vision in fleecy black and white stripes.
‘I’m so sorry, love,’ I said, joining him on the bed and putting an arm around him. ‘And trust me, Ty,’ I said as he leaned into me, ‘I know it’s not your fault. I just wish you’d have come straight to the kitchen to tell me when he started acting up. That way I could have dealt with him there and then.’
He sighed heavily, all the huff and puff having gone out of him, thankfully. ‘I didn’t get the chance, Casey,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t think you realise just how bad he is. The things he says. He’s, like, proper filthy. Honest, you’d never think he was eight. Trust me, he uses words even I’ve never heard of! Seriously, Casey. He’s a full-on nightmare, that’s what he is!’
I supressed a smile at his expression. He seemed right about it, too. ‘I know, sweetie,’ I said. ‘And like I said, I’m sorry. Look, we’ve only another day to go, and as you’ve done nothing wrong, how about you get that Xbox back out and have a play on it now? And maybe come back downstairs once me laddo is in bed? Mike’ll be home in half an hour or so, won’t he? Perhaps you can both watch Match of the Day.’
He looked happier. ‘Can I now? I’ll be extra, extra quiet. I’ll be – what’s that? You hear that?’
I had heard something. We both listened again, hard. There was another sound. One that was horribly familiar. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ I said, rising and dashing to the window. I scooped the curtain back.
‘Was that what I thought it was?’ Tyler asked, following.
‘Yup,’ I confirmed. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’