The Boy No One Loved: A Heartbreaking True Story of Abuse, Abandonment and Betrayal

So it was all shaping up well, and though Justin’s food anxieties needed addressing in the short term (I’d now, at his request, put up a chart in the kitchen, detailing exactly what food we were having each day, and at what time) he seemed to be slowly settling in. Though he seemed to oscillate between being over-excited about Christmas one minute and negative and scowling about the whole thing the next, I felt overall that we were making progress. So much so that, at the end of the week, I felt confident enough to take him out on a Christmas shopping trip, with me and Riley.

‘How big is big?’ he asked me, as our train to the shopping mall sped through the snowy countryside. He’d been chatty and in good spirits and had been animated throughout the journey. He told us he’d never been to a big city-centre shopping mall before.

‘Big,’ I said. ‘Lots and lots of shops. Around fifty of them, most probably.’

This news seemed to enthral him. ‘And will they have a Christmas tree?’ he asked.

‘Definitely,’ I said, grinning. ‘Several of them. Really big ones, I expect, with loads of lights and baubles.’

He seemed pleased at this, too, even though I recalled that his last comment about our one had been that my ‘stupid fucking fairy lights’ gave him a migraine. Today, though, was definitely an ‘up’ day. So far, so good.

‘I want DVDs for Christmas,’ he went on, at Riley’s cheerful prompting about what Santa might be bringing him. ‘I’d like lots of DVDs to watch, and a new games console and lots of games. And some plastic toy soldiers that I can play with in the bath.’ Riley raised her eyebrows slightly, her meaning immediately obvious. Wasn’t he just a little old to be playing with toy soldiers in the bath?

I nodded anyway. He might have had to grow up way, way too fast in some respects, but in others, understandably, given his life experiences, he’d probably still be very immature. ‘And what else, besides soldiers?’ I asked him.

‘Toy guns,’ he said. ‘Toy guns and a Swiss army knife.’

From one end of the spectrum to the other. ‘I think you’re still a little bit too young for one of those,’ I told him gently. ‘Perhaps when you’re a little older …’

But the change in Justin as I said this was both immediate and dramatic. Thwarted, his mouth narrowed straight away into a thin angry line, his eyes darkened and his whole face was now set in a scowl. He refused to engage with either of us for the remainder of the journey. And there was absolutely nothing either of us could do about it.

Once we arrived, however, it seemed Justin was once again too excited to be angry with us any more, and looked up in wonder at the decorations, the shop fronts and the huge crowds of people. He seemed particularly ecstatic about the food court on the top floor, and the fact that there were so many different fast-food places you could choose to eat from. Paradoxically, however – and it felt I was learning all this far too slowly – he got really upset again when I suggested he might like to be the one who chose where we’d have lunch.

‘It’s not fair, Casey!’ he railed at me. He was unnervingly articulate and seemed palpably distressed again. ‘You know I love all these places! You shouldn’t have brought us here if you can’t make your mind up about it. I feel sick now, and it’s all your fault!’

I quickly chose one, and we diffused things, and lunch happened fairly peaceably but a similar thing happened when we started going round the shops. We were given a specific allowance for Justin by our fostering agency, which we could give to him as pocket money, and I’d brought along thirty pounds for him to buy presents for his mother and two little brothers.

Not wishing to smother him or seem prescriptive over what would be personal choices, I then sent him into a shop alone, while Riley and I waited outside. He was gone a long time, and when he did finally emerge, empty handed, I could see that the dark expression had overtaken him again.

‘It’s shit in there!’ he shouted, as he stormed across the concourse to where we were sitting. ‘There’s too much in there. I don’t know what to buy!’ He then turned to Riley, and I could see he was close to tears now. ‘Please,’ he said to her, ‘can you choose for me?’

‘Of course,’ she said, leaping up, and leading him straight back inside again. They returned minutes later and his face was much brighter. They’d got a necklace for his mum and two superhero models for his brothers, and he seemed genuinely pleased to have had her help him. And as we left the mall, it occurred to me that his see-saw behaviour was, in fact, very understandable. Was there anything more difficult for children who had nothing – and more than that, no-one to love them or to care for them – than seeing a world full of families and so much festive cheer and joy? It was particularly hard, given his desperate and lonely situation, and the fact that he was going to be ‘allowed’ to see his mother for just a few hours in as many long months.

But there was also a big positive in all this, I reflected. He seemed to have at least got over his animosity towards Riley. So, on balance, a very productive day.

As Christmas Day itself – the Big One – loomed ever nearer, Justin also found an unlikely ally in Kieron. Though Justin was still intermittently excited about everything, the strain on all of us was showing because for the most part his mood, with the endless waves of friends and relatives stopping by, and all the attendant disruption and chatter, was becoming more volatile and darker with every passing hour.

And we did have an awful lot of visitors. My brother and his family stayed over, and we had lots dropping in, from neighbours to friends to some of my old colleagues from school. The house was constantly full of noise – good noise, in the main; lots of fun and lots of laughter – but Justin increasingly sought to avoid it or, if he did stick around, seemed intent on embarrassing me, telling my niece and nephew that there was no such thing as Santa, swearing, slamming doors and drowning out any conversation by pointedly turning the volume on the TV to max. But it was me, as it turned out, that needed teaching a lesson, and it was through Kieron, my own son, that I got one.

Much as he loved Christmas, Kieron found it stressful too, as it obviously meant major changes to his routine, and lots of unscheduled comings and goings, which always made him nervous. He would often, therefore, take off to his bedroom the minute he heard the sound of the doorbell.

On the day of my brother’s visit, my little niece, Brooke, wanted to give Kieron his present herself, but when I looked for him I realized couldn’t find him. When I’d last seen him he’d been in the conservatory, putting up some last-minute decorations for me, but when I called him I got no response. I ran upstairs, planning to pop my head round his bedroom door, but as I approached I could hear male voices and laughter coming from Justin’s room. I stopped outside then, and heard Kieron’s voice. ‘I know how you feel, mate. Mum’s always like this,’ he was saying. I realized immediately that he must be talking to Justin. ‘She’s always been like it,’ he mused. ‘She just loves all the noise and having loads of people round.’ I heard him laugh then. ‘Trouble is, she thinks everyone else does as well!’

Then Justin spoke. ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘You can stay here with me, if you like. Stay in my room till everyone’s gone, if you want to. We can play footie manager – as long as I can be Germany. Okay? You can be England, and we’ll kick your butt.’

‘Set it up, then,’ Kieron replied, laughing. ‘Let’s see how good you really are.’

I crept away then, the idea of calling Kieron down now off the agenda, and cursing myself for being so lacking in perspective that I couldn’t see that not everyone was as Christmas crazy as I was. God, it was my butt that needed kicking.

And, of course, I did get my comeuppance, because it duly got kicked. By Christmas Eve, despite my determination to be mindful of how hyper I could get at this time of year, I was in overdrive. Christmas Eve was always a busy day for me anyway but this one was even busier than usual. Not least because I was up so early – before Justin got up – ringing round all my friends and family to explain that we’d decided to cancel our planned Christmas Eve party. Mike and I had discussed it at length and decided it was the only sensible thing to do; we just didn’t think Justin would be able to cope with it.

Kieron was pleased, but poor Riley was not. ‘God, Mum!’ she launched at me, in an uncharacteristic outburst. ‘That kid is beginning to ruin everything already! David and I were both really looking forward to tonight. And now it’s going to be crap. Thanks a lot.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I began, ‘but –’

‘And why does he have to be here anyway?’ she interrupted. ‘Surely there’s someone who wants to see him over Christmas? Why can’t you just sort it so he can go somewhere else tonight?’

I tried to explain gently to her that, really, there was no-one, and to suggest that perhaps she was being just a little selfish; that the whole point of us fostering was to help this unhappy child. We’d hardly be doing that if we packed him off at any time, but to do so at Christmas – how could we?

To my great relief (tinged with guilt; this was her mum and dad’s choice, after all, not hers) she accepted this and came over to help me wrap some presents, while Kieron and Justin played yet more Football Manager upstairs. I’d dispatched Mike, meanwhile (and not at all to his liking) to head to town with my last-minute shopping list.

Perhaps, I thought, just perhaps, all would be well. I took a deep breath. So far, at least.

But the calm in the Watson household wasn’t destined to last. It was around four in the afternoon and by now I was busy in the kitchen, preparing the veg for our Christmas dinner the next day. Justin had been downstairs a couple of times, moaning about how I hadn’t written what we were having for tea on the chart yet, and when he made a third appearance, I was short with him.

‘Look, love,’ I said to him, conscious even then that I was irritable. ‘I am trying to get the food ready for tomorrow. I do have other things on my mind besides what you’re having for your tea!’

Almost as soon as I’d said this, I wished I could have swallowed the words, because Justin’s reaction was instantaneous. His eyes darkened, in that rather scary way we’d come to witness – a sure sign that he’d lost it, and big time.

‘You can stick your tea and your Christmas up your arse!’ he roared at me, before flying from the room and slamming the kitchen door so hard I was sure it made the walls rattle.

Kieron appeared in the kitchen moments later, presumably having heard this and passed Justin on the stairs. I tried to bite back the tears that were springing from my eyes. I don’t think until that moment I’d really accepted quite how stressed out I really was, and the last thing I wanted was for Kieron to see it now. But within seconds, things were about to get worse. Before I had even started telling Kieron what had just occurred, Justin burst back in through the door, his eyes now blazing, his cheeks florid, brandishing all the Disney DVDs that we’d bought for him, screaming manically as he snapped them, one by one, in half.

‘This is what I think of your stupid fucking tea!’ he screamed at me. ‘And this is what I think of your stupid fucking presents! They’re for kids!’ he yelled, as shards of DVD flew across the kitchen. ‘So why don’t you give them to your ugly fucking niece! I don’t want them, okay? And I couldn’t play them anyway! Because I’ve smashed up my DVD player, too!’

‘Justin –’ I began.

But Justin was unseeing, and not listening to me at all. He grabbed my mobile from the kitchen table and hurled it against the wall. The back flew off immediately and the battery fell out, the bits joining the mass of DVD shards. It was so sudden that it took me completely by surprise, and I just stood there and gaped for a moment, speechless.

‘Get to your room! NOW!’ Kieron suddenly barked at him. ‘And don’t even think about coming down until you’re ready to apologise! You’re a selfish little brat, and if it were up to me, you’d be having no tea at all, you understand?’

Justin’s eyes were now as full of unshed tears as my own were, and as he fled the room, mine spilled out over my cheeks, despite all my good intentions about not crying.

I pulled out a chair and sat on it and put my head in my hands, mortified both that I’d handled things so badly, and that I’d upset Kieron. Upset everything. Ruined Christmas.

But I didn’t sit on it for long. What was I thinking? I stood up again, and went to put my arm around Kieron, as he stooped to gather up the parts of my dismembered phone. He was white as a sheet and I could feel he was shaking.

‘It’s okay, love,’ I soothed him. He hated seeing me upset. ‘He probably just needed to get that out of his system. I think we all did. I’m okay, Kieron, honest.’

‘Oh, God, mum. I know. But, God, I almost slapped him!’ This thought clearly horrified him, as I knew it would. That wasn’t Kieron. He looked hard at me. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

I squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’m fine now. Really fine. I swear.’

I took a step back from him now, gently shaking his shoulders. ‘But look at you! Coming over all Bruce Lee for your mum!’

He tutted at this. ‘Bruce Lee? He’s ancient! Bruce Willis, more like.’

Whatever. I let go a big sigh of relief. Situation diffused. At least for now.

By the time Mike returned with the shopping, I had calmed down sufficiently to see clearly. This was just an outburst – a symptom – not the end of the world. Kieron, understandably, was still very angry and insistent that Justin come and apologize to me, but after he’d explained to Mike what had happened, I felt it was really important that we calm the whole temperature down. I neither wanted nor needed an apology, I told them. It was just the build-up, the anticipation; it had all clearly been too much for him. I should have thought, I went on, about how it must be for him. How different it must have all been from what he was used to. And despite us telling him that Santa was bringing him lots of presents, why should he believe us? He hadn’t seen them, because we’d hidden them. And why, with his past, should he trust any of us? Trust anyone?

Despite that, Mike still felt he must go up and speak to him. Not to rant at him – that, we both agreed, would be pointless; even counter-productive. He was probably well used to people tearing strips off him all the time – but just to make it clear that his behaviour was unacceptable. He already knew that, of course – he’d know he’d lose points on his behaviour chart – but Mike felt strongly that he needed not to gloss over it, but to spell it out.

They both came back down, half an hour later, and Justin’s head was hanging. His eyes were red and swollen. You could see he’d been crying a lot.

‘I’m sorry Casey,’ he said solemnly. ‘I’m sorry, Kieron. I’ll pay you back for everything with my pocket money, I promise. I’ve got £16 in my drawer too, so that’ll be a start.’

He looked so sorry and so ashamed that my heart melted instantly. Poor kid. Poor, poor kid. Born to such terrible circumstances, and none of it his fault.

‘Just forget it,’ I said to him. But Mike shook his head.

‘No, Casey,’ he said. ‘We’ve already sorted it, haven’t we, Justin? That we’ll get him a new DVD player once he’s saved up enough to pay half. Agreed, Justin?’

Justin nodded. ‘Agreed.’

I crossed the kitchen and ruffled Justin’s hair. And he let me. It was only a small thing, but at least we’d made some contact.

Once again, I felt the tension drain out of my body, and my sense of optimism about Christmas returning. It would be fine now. Outburst over, we could now all enjoy Christmas and New Year.

But it would be less than forty-eight hours before I was proved wrong.

Chapter 4

I woke on Christmas morning in my usual good spirits, and was once again up early, and straight down in the living room, flicking through the TV channels to find something festive to put on. After a few clicks of the remote I found The Wizard of Oz – one of my favourites – so I left that playing while I headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, where I added my Christmas CD to the cacophony, turning it up just that little bit too much.

‘For God’s sake, love!’ said Mike, following me in there in his dressing gown.

I pulled him towards me and tried to get him to do a twirl with me, but he was having none of it. ‘Get off me, you nutter!’ he said, grinning. ‘You’ll have the whole bloody street up with the racket you’re making! Go get some breakfast on, woman!’

He then kissed me on the nose and gave me a bear hug. ‘I’ll go and get these kids up, then, shall I?’

I smiled to myself as I went to the fridge and started pulling out bacon and orange juice. I had the best husband ever. I truly believed that. Never in a million years would I have considered becoming a foster parent if I hadn’t had a great man like Mike by my side.

By the time we took on Justin, Mike and I had been married for twelve years, though we had been together as a couple for much longer. We’d known each other since childhood, and had always been friends. It was only after my first marriage had broken down and I had turned to friends for support, that Mike and I had realised just how much we meant to each other. The rest, as they say, is history, and we remain just as much in love today as we always were.

He was also my rock and my foil – we fitted perfectly. Where I was impetuous and excitable, he was so calm and wise, and he also made me feel safe, both emotionally and physically – he was well over six foot to my diminutive five foot nothing, and I knew I could rely on him totally.

I glanced at the many reminders and post-it notes stuck on the fridge door as I closed it, and which I’d had to prune out and squash up to make way for some big new ones. Beside the meal chart – on which I’d remembered to record both our turkey dinner and our bacon buttie breakfast – was the points chart we’d had in place for Justin from day one, as part of our strategy to get him to modify his behaviour and so – hopefully – be in a position to return to mainstream foster care once he’d completed the programme with us. That was all that we were hoping for (though the word ‘all’ is obviously a pretty big one) – to get him successfully placed with a long-term foster family and thereby have a chance of a happy and useful adult life.

The way we worked the points chart was simple. When he had amassed sufficient he was allowed a choice of treats as a reward; things like choosing the family dinner, say, or having an outing of some sort, the hope being that he’d be motivated to try and earn them. Because no points, of course, meant no treats. If he was good, and did all the day-to-day things we required of him, like cleaning his teeth, making his bed, being polite and so on, he got points awarded. But if he did something bad, he would lose them again. Last night’s episode, sadly, had seen him lose a lot. But, largely thanks to Mike’s input, he’d apologised now, which was no small thing for a child in his situation to do. I was so glad we were now starting Christmas Day on a positive note. The only fly in the ointment was an obvious one. We’d bought him some DVDs for Christmas, as had Riley, and a few others, and now he had nothing on which to play them.

But there was no point in me worrying about that now. We’d just have to deal with it when we got to it, I supposed. At the moment all was calm and that was good enough for me.

And also Kieron, who was down in the kitchen moments later, clearly back to his old self after the scene he had witnessed last night, and as excited about Christmas at 19 years of age as he’d been throughout the whole of his childhood. Where the run-up meant stress and anxiety and disruption, the big day itself was completely predictable, being one of those days in the calendar where our family routine hardly varied, which meant it was perfect for someone like my son. Mostly, of course, it meant lots of presents, which we still – at his request – put into a great big Christmas sack.

We’d done one for Justin, too, who thundered down close behind Kieron, looking so much calmer and happier now the day itself was finally here. In some respects, they had quite a lot in common.

I tried keeping some order on proceedings in the living room, but it was pointless. Since we’d had children big enough to create chaos, it always had been. ‘Check the tags, love,’ I urged Justin, as he ripped hell for leather into all the wrapping paper, ‘or you won’t have any idea who bought you what!’

My words were falling on deaf ears, though; he was just way too excited to take heed of what I was saying, and I decided that since this was probably a really big deal for him, I wouldn’t spoil the moment by nagging. ‘Tell you what,’ I said, as I stooped to gather up all the discarded wrapping paper, ‘you’ll just have to say “thank you for my present” to everyone. That way you won’t go far wrong.’

I was so touched by what an impressive haul he had, too. Everyone in my extended family had got him something, which they really didn’t have to do, bless them. I was particularly touched to see how much care Riley had taken. This was a child she’d not laid eyes on till half-way through December, not to mention the fact that she and David didn’t exactly have fortunes to splash around, yet she’d bought him such a lovely collection of toy soldiers, together with all the guns and grenades and other bits and bobs to go with them. I found myself smiling at this, too – we’d be having a job getting him out of the bath now.

The floor of the lounge was by now a sea of presents and torn paper, and it was the rustling of this that made me turn to see Mike sloping out. I’d assumed he’d just gone out to turn over the bacon, but he returned with a present I’d not seen before. He handed it to a surprised-looking Justin.

‘You might need this,’ he said, grinning, and before I could even wonder, Justin had opened the package to find a DVD player inside. He whispered a shocked but clearly delighted ‘thank you’ to Mike, and the expression on his face – now rather red – was a picture. As, I’m sure, was the expression on mine.

‘Where on earth did that come from?’ I asked Mike once we were back alone in the kitchen, getting breakfast dished up.

‘I called our Angela last night, after you’d gone up to bed,’ he explained. Angela was his sister. ‘I just kept thinking we couldn’t have the lad with nothing to play his new DVDs on, could we? I mean, I know it’s important that he learns that actions have consequences, and I still think he should save up half the money for a new one. But, well, it’s Christmas Day, isn’t it? No harm in letting him have that one for the time being, is there?’

‘But how did it get here?’

‘She drove round with it. While you were spark out in bed.’

I threw my arms around him. ‘Love, you are just wonderful,’ I said. ‘That’s such a thoughtful thing to have done.’

‘I was thinking about the rest of us as much as anything,’ he said ruefully. ‘He’s bound to be on edge, you know. Thinking about tomorrow and seeing his mum and brothers and everything. Be good for all of us if he has something to take his mind off it, I thought.’

But as it turned out, Justin was anything but anxious on Boxing Day morning. Superficially, at least, he seemed really happy and excited. Perhaps I should have taken that in itself as an omen. Get over-excited about something in life and it’s odds on that you’ll be disappointed. And right now he was as bouncy as a rubber ball.

‘Mum wasn’t having her Christmas dinner yesterday,’ he told me brightly, as we fed him an early breakfast of cereal, toast and orange juice. It was only just gone seven, and I was feeling the hour. We’d all really gone to bed much too late. ‘She was saving it to have once I get there,’ he went on. ‘Bet my brothers were mad as hell about that!’