The Wild Child Read online

  It was dreadful reading – starts in life don’t come much worse – and I felt genuinely moved, not to mention slightly sickened, thinking of where he’d come from and just how damaged he must be as a consequence. I wasn’t alone; various social workers and carers had made similar observations, one noting only recently that, at the age of just eight, Connor truly believed himself to be ‘properly grown-up’, had seen enough of life to know ‘exactly what was what’ and that half the adults he’d encountered ‘didn’t have a clue’.

  I closed my laptop. Bye bye weekend. This clearly wasn’t going to be an easy one. Though I already knew that – mine was a job that required me to know that – I also knew instinctively that I now had to make a choice. Not about hanging on to Connor – our next long-term placement would be decided in consultation with John Fulshaw – but about how I – or, rather, we – approached the next two days.

  I had two choices. I could fill the time with fun things to do, keep Connor happy and act like he was just with us for a little holiday, or I could choose to try to help in some way. That would mean touching on some very painful areas for Connor and ‘interfering’ in his life, and I knew doing that was tantamount to creating all kinds of trouble. But to opt for simple containment would leave me feeling that I wasn’t doing my job. And that, admittedly to my own detriment at times, simply wasn’t in my nature.

  John Fulshaw was still away, of course, but I could hear him like Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder. He’d have looked at the notes and advised against this particular bit of respite, for sure. I could actually hear him telling me not to take it on, saying that since we’d decided to take on Tyler permanently we needed to take a break before embarking on our next quest. Yes, do a bit of respite, perhaps – for quiet, biddable children who happened to find themselves in unfortunate circumstances – but save our emotional energy for our next long-term challenge; not take on a kid with a dossier of escapades that made for more eye-popping reading than James Bond’s.

  John would probably have been right, but I’d committed to it now, so it was up to me to advise me, and I told myself sternly that I should play things by ear. Much as my instinct was to cast myself as a mixture of superhero and avenging angel, the best thing to do would be to see how things went. In any case, half the day would be gone before Connor even got to us; I’d never been to Swindon but I knew it was at least a couple of hours’ drive away, probably more. And he’d be tired, he’d be shaken, he’d be scared; hopefully he’d be contrite. Which thoughts showed just how much I didn’t know.

  Mike and Tyler arrived back from football at one o’clock, exactly the time I expected to receive Connor, so I hustled them in, ordered them both to the bathroom with a command of ‘Get those filthy sweaty things off!’ and flew around with a can of air freshener. Only then, with my home feeling fit to receive visitors, did I take up a vigil by the living-room window.

  ‘Is that a security van?’ Tyler wanted to know, once he and Mike had come to join me.

  ‘Certainly looks like one,’ Mike agreed. He laughed. ‘Though I’m sure it’s not. It’s probably just –’

  ‘It bloody is,’ I said, gawping at what had just pulled up outside our house. ‘Look at the writing on it! And it’s got those armoured windows and everything.’

  ‘It is,’ Tyler agreed. ‘It’s one of those vehicles they use to transport criminals back and forth from where their trials are. I remember seeing them when we were there. Don’t you remember?’

  Indeed I did, one of our first outings with Tyler having been to accompany him to court.

  ‘Bloody hell, Case,’ Mike observed before I could answer. ‘What the hell did he do?’

  We all watched, agog, as the driver got out. He was a huge man – as tall as Mike and a great deal wider – and when he went round the back to open it he was joined by another man-mountain; they were clearly hand-picked for the job.

  Which was what made what happened next seem even more incongruous. Because what emerged from the van was a slip of a boy; if I’d been asked his age, at this distance I would have guessed somewhere around six. They were joined by a third man – three men! Come all this way with him! And all three, amazingly, escorted the lad up our path.

  I realised we all had our mouths hanging open. ‘Come on,’ I hissed. ‘Come away from the window. The kid’s probably petrified!’

  Not, it had to be said, that he looked it. It was hard to drag ourselves away from watching this tiny thing, his head a mass of blond, cherubic curls, who was currently marching towards our front door. Really marching, too. Like you see young boys doing when they’re playing soldiers. Arms stiff and swinging in time with their feet, expression blank, head held high. I had never seen anything like it in my life and half expected one of the ‘guards’ to shout ‘Halt!’

  I rushed to open the door, closely followed by a bemused Mike and Tyler. Trying to ignore the hard, inscrutable gazes of the three men, I immediately bent down so I could smile at Connor at his level. ‘Hiya, sweetie,’ I said, touching his shoulder as I spoke. ‘I’m Casey, this is Mike and this is Tyler.’

  I then stood upright to speak to the men, who returned my chirpy greeting almost as if they were robots. I wasn’t sure they were much used to delivering small children to middle-aged women in the suburbs. ‘Do you have his things?’ I followed up. ‘His clothes and the usual paperwork? And how about a cup of tea or something?’ I added. ‘You’ve had a long drive. Come on, please do all come in.’

  I moved to one side, then, to allow the procession to pass but the men stayed where they were. The one at the back passed the small suitcase he carried to Mike and then a large envelope to me. ‘We won’t come in if you don’t mind,’ the front man replied. ‘We’ve got a long drive back and want to crack on.’ He then turned to Connor and cracked a smile, too, finally. ‘You’ll be alright here, son,’ he said, patting him on the head, closely followed by the second man. ‘And don’t forget, you just be good for these people, won’t you?’

  Connor nodded solemnly. The two seemed to have bonded en route. He then turned and smiled shyly up at me.

  ‘I am a good kid you know. I dunno what all the fuss is about really. But like I told these fellers on the way, it’s ’cos me dad’s a famous gangster from London. They all give me grief about it, but it’s alright, I can take it. There’s not much fazes me. You got anything to eat? I’m starving!’

  I grinned back, delighted by the warmth in his smile and the endearing ‘Artful Dodger’ way he spoke. I was also aware of Mike and Tyler trying not to laugh. ‘Go on in, then,’ I said. ‘Mike and Tyler will show you your room while I sort you out some food. Cheese sandwich and some crisps? How about that?’

  ‘Sounds safe,’ he said, hopping over the step and coming in.

  I thanked the men for bringing him and, as soon as Connor was out of earshot, I asked the question that had been on my mind since they arrived. ‘This all seems very odd,’ I said. ‘Do children in care always get transported like this from your neck of the woods?’

  The man at the front laughed. ‘Nope!’ he said. Then his face was once again serious. ‘But then again, not all children are like young Connor. Don’t let them big blue eyes fool you, Mrs Watson. He’s already bitten a chunk out of one of my men, and only ten minutes ago said his dad would slit my throat the minute he gets released.’

  He patted my shoulder, just as he’d done to Connor’s head. ‘Stay safe,’ he said cheerily as he led the procession back to the van.

  Chapter 4

  I stood and watched the huge vehicle turn around and drive away, letting the shocking things he’d said to me sink in. They had just seemed so at odds with the way Connor looked and had behaved – well, so far – that my instincts were all over the place; I really didn’t know what to think.

  I’d yet to hear from the care-home manager, so I still felt somewhat ill-informed; I’d have liked to know the circumstances around the incident that had brought him here, but right now all I had to go o
n were the email I’d already studied and the envelope I had in my hand. I ripped it open and had a flick through while Mike and the boys were still out of the way, but there wasn’t much more than I’d been told earlier. Well, apart from some further info on how he’d got hold of an iron bar. It seemed he’d acquired it from the grounds of the home, where some repairs were being done to some of the outbuildings. Apparently left behind by a workman, it had found its way into Connor’s hands a few days earlier – he’d admitted to having it hidden under his bed.

  ‘For protection’ had been his answer when he’d been asked why he’d taken it, but it had certainly not been used in defence. No, it seemed the social worker – a Mr Gordon – had wound him up in the dining room, so he’d gone to his room, retrieved the bar, which was apparently some part of an old window, and then duly caused mayhem over breakfast.

  This morning’s breakfast. All that trouble caused, and on this very morning, by the little dot of a kid upstairs. Hearing the stairs creak, I stuffed the papers back into the envelope.

  It was Mike. ‘Told them I’d call them when there’s some food ready. Ty’s helping him settle in. Anything juicy in there?’ he added, nodding towards the paperwork. I paused, wondering whether to try and sugar it. I decided not.

  ‘He does appear to be a bit worse than we first thought,’ I said, keeping an eye on the door. ‘It certainly doesn’t make nice reading. I think we’re going to have to keep a close eye on him.’

  He held his hand out for the envelope. ‘Let’s have a nose, then. Don’t worry. He’s busy unpacking and Ty’s promised him they can play on his Xbox.’

  I handed it over. ‘Well, I guess all we can do is treat him as we find him and play it by ear. Julie did say these outbursts invariably follow a pattern. That once he’s messed up his placements he goes through a period of remorse. Let’s hope he’s in reflective mood today, eh?’

  ‘Placements plural?’ Mike said. ‘How many has he been through?’

  ‘More than are commensurate with peace, love and harmony,’ I told him. ‘So let’s make sure he sees some while he’s with us. I’ll leave them for a bit, then how about we take them both out? Maybe even stay out for tea. We’ll just keep him busy,’ I added, as Mike finished scanning the notes.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Be the other way around, I reckon.’

  He wasn’t wrong. After he went into the lounge to watch his Saturday sports programme I quickly made both boys a sandwich, then took them up; if they were settled with the Xbox, I was happy enough. They could get on and get to know each other over some mutual game they liked while I dealt with the laundry, and we could head off on our outing a little later.

  I reached the top of the stairs and smiled as I heard boyish laughter coming from Tyler’s room. Tyler was routinely great around younger kids, not just because he had his own little brother (whom he still saw pretty regularly, even though he had no contact with his dad or stepmother) but because he spent so much time around my own grandchildren.

  I hovered a moment, listening – you could glean lots by listening to what kids chatted about when out of earshot – and, as a result, my smile didn’t stay in place long.

  ‘Mate, you’re almost a man at your age,’ Connor was saying. ‘Don’t tell me you never look at tits.’

  I swallowed a gasp and edged closer to the very slightly open door. ‘Casey’ll go mad, Connor, trust me,’ Tyler answered, sounding uncomfortable. ‘Seriously. I didn’t even know my Xbox could do that.’

  I heard Connor giggle – such an innocent sound when made by an eight-year-old – and I could picture his angelic face as he answered. ‘Aw, mate, you got a lot to learn. You can get pornos on ’em and all sorts!’

  I almost dropped the sandwiches in my haste to transfer both plates to one hand so I could knock loudly on the door before opening it. Tyler stared at me, red faced, while Connor smiled sweetly. ‘Hi, Mrs Watson,’ he said politely. ‘I think I’m going to love it here. Thanks for letting me stay, an’ that. I really appreciate it.’

  I knew at that moment that I could simply pretend I hadn’t heard. Get the boys out of the room and then speak to Tyler later. We were only taking care of this pint-sized porn-fancier for the weekend, after all. Or I could make my life a bit more difficult. I chose the latter.

  ‘You’re welcome, Connor,’ I said, fairly sharply, as I put the plates down on the chest of drawers. ‘But I just heard the conversation you boys were having and I’m telling you right from the off, Connor, that I won’t tolerate that kind of thing.’

  I then looked at Tyler, trying to transmit that we were in this together, while at the same time saying, ‘Tyler, I know you were trying to be nice to Connor, but I’m afraid there’ll be no more Xbox this weekend. Connor, go to your own room and get your shoes on. You can have your lunch with me downstairs. And then we’re going out.’

  Tyler nodded, looking embarrassed, then got to his feet and started winding the leads round the Xbox handsets. Connor stood up, too, but his expression had morphed into something like a sneer. ‘So I’m not allowed to play anything now, then? What kind of fucking house is this?’

  I picked up the plate that contained his sandwich and held the door wide open. I then pointed towards the bedroom he’d just unpacked his things in. ‘You, Connor,’ I told him, ‘are the same age as my grandson. I would not tolerate that kind of language from him and, trust me, I won’t tolerate it from you either. Do you hear me? And if I hear it again, I’m sure Mike will have something to say about it, too,’ I added, sensing what I might be dealing with here, given Connor’s early years. I wasn’t generally one for the ‘wait till your father gets home’ variety of disciplining generally, but I knew this boy was used to being disciplined by his father, so might well be more fearful of his wrath than mine. As it would turn out, I was right on the money about that, but for now I was just pleased to see him respond. ‘Now go on,’ I said. ‘Let’s not ruin today before we’ve even started. Grab your shoes, then downstairs to eat.’

  Gloves off, then. Still, at least it was good to know where we stood. And it seemed Connor was keen for that, too. ‘Tell “Big Mike” if you like,’ he said, sauntering past me through the open doorway. ‘He’s just another one I’ll add to the list of men for me dad to sort out.’ He left the bedroom actually whistling.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Tyler said, his jaw dropping. ‘What kind of kid is that?’

  I groaned. ‘The kind that is going to make this a very long weekend, I imagine, don’t you? Hmm. I think we’ll go to the Jungle Pit. Have tea there as well. Yup, that’s a plan. Try and help him burn off some energy.’

  ‘Oh great,’ Tyler said, rolling his eyes. ‘He trash talks you and gets a reward?’ He then grinned at me. ‘I’m only kidding, Casey. Don’t look so worried. I know what you’re trying to do.’

  Bless him, I thought, marvelling at his perceptiveness. Tyler was no angel – he was a thirteen-year-old boy, so could still get up to mischief and give us some attitude from time to time – but it was reassuring that he understood that there were ways and ways of playing things.

  I followed Connor back downstairs and while he ate his sandwich – and there wasn’t a peep out of him now – I went to tell Mike both a watered-down version of what had happened (leaving out the ‘Big Mike’ bit) and the plan I had for keeping our charming young visitor occupied for the afternoon.

  Despite my telling him he could stay behind and watch telly – he’d had a long and busy week, after all – Mike felt the same as Tyler. ‘So, let me get this straight. You’re taking him to a play centre to thank him for being rude to you? Good plan, Case.’

  I was pretty sure I’d get the same response from Riley if I told her as well, so as soon as it popped into my head that I could ask her to join me instead of Mike, I dismissed it again. No, better if the ‘containment’ part of the weekend involved only myself.

  ‘I’ll come as well,’ Tyler said, bringing his own plate back down to the kitchen. ‘Keep you company
while Connor here goes and plays.’

  If Connor noticed the slightly patronizing tone in Tyler’s voice, he didn’t show it. In fact, I reckoned he was now on a different track with us. Having been denied his ‘pornos’ and made his feelings known, it was almost as if, having realized he was stuck with us for a couple of days, he’d now made a conscious decision to keep us on side. In any event, I reasoned, he would enjoy playing there; I’d never met a kid who didn’t enjoy having free rein in a giant warehouse full of ball pits and climbing frames, ropes, slides and trampolines. If he didn’t find something to amuse himself he’d be a very strange boy indeed.

  Though, by any standards, he was a strange boy. Given his early abandonment by his mother, and the frequent absences of his father, it would have been a miracle if he wasn’t. I wasn’t silly. He was damaged by his upbringing, and I knew all about that because I saw it all the time. But there was more to it than that. And as Tyler went to get himself ready, and Connor meekly offered to wash up his plate and mug, I’d pretty much decided I knew exactly what I was dealing with. My guess was that he was on the road to becoming a sociopath.

  It’s a word that gets bandied about a lot, ‘sociopath’, but it’s important that the condition is correctly diagnosed, because a child with sociopathic tendencies is a damaged and potentially very dangerous child; one who needs a great deal of specialist help and a supportive and firm environment if they aren’t to grow up to become a damaged and dangerous adult as well.

  I knew a little of what I spoke. We’d fostered a child a few years back, a boy almost exactly the same as Connor in some of his background and ways, and the professional view, given his behaviour, which was often extreme and very entrenched, was that he was a sociopath, too. Thankfully, in that case it turned out he wasn’t; he was simply reacting to a situation nobody had known about, much less understood. It had been his father – his charming, personable and apparently bewildered father – who’d been the wolf in sheep’s clothing that had so damaged the poor kid.