‘Tyler,’ I said pointedly, ‘Kieron was asking you a question, love. He asked you which team you supported.’
I waited, hoping to force him into continuing the conversation. I soon wished I hadn’t.
‘And I heard him!’ he snapped back, quick as you like. ‘And I told him I don’t know!’
He launched himself off the sofa, then, and for a moment I thought he was going to run at me and rugby tackle me, but instead he headed straight for Kieron and the open door. ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he shouted. ‘Can’t you people just leave me alone?’
‘Hey!’ Kieron barked. ‘Less of the lip. You don’t talk to my mum like that, Tyler, do you hear?’
Tyler ignored him, barging past him and stomping out of the living room, slamming the door behind him for good measure.
‘What the hell?’ Kieron said, shaking his head. ‘Was it something I said?’
I squeezed his arm. ‘No, love,’ I said. ‘He’s been like this since he got here. Take no notice. He’s on his last gasp, in any case. Me and your dad are giving him the weekend to settle down a bit and then we’ll start to work on that God-awful behaviour of his. You know what it’s like,’ I added, picking up the remote and silencing the din from the TV. ‘He’s come from a really bad place, love. And he’s currently “adjusting”.’
Kieron grinned. ‘Mum, all the kids you have come from a bad place. He’s just – did you hear that? Was that the front door I just heard go?’
I sighed heavily. He wasn’t planning on doing a runner, was he? Now, that would be a great start. I ran to the front window. ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ I said. ‘He’s just taken his football out into the front garden. Maybe he’s going to have a kick-about to calm himself down.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ Kieron answered wryly. ‘Let’s hope he hasn’t decided to try take it out on the house.’
No sooner had Kieron said that than I was reminded of one of my mum’s famous sayings: Many a true word is spoken in jest.
The sudden thud was almighty. ‘Jesus! He bloody is!’ I said in amazement, watching his antics. ‘He’s purposely kicking the ball at the front door!’
And hard, too. Kieron joined me at the window just as the second ‘hit’ landed. This time, however, it wasn’t the door we heard rattle. It was the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. ‘What the …?’ Kieron spluttered, before rushing out into the hall. I followed him, desperately hoping that it had been an unfortunate accident, but knowing, without a doubt, that it was not.
‘Kieron!’ I said, as he yanked the front door open, ‘just stay calm, love. Let’s see what he has to say for himself first.’ Too late.
‘I saw that!’ Kieron shouted at Tyler, as I surveyed the puddle of broken glass shards that had rained down from the side panel of my front door. ‘You kicked that ball at that pane of glass on purpose!’
‘Did I fuck!’ Tyler responded. ‘You want your eyes testing! God,’ he added, stabbing a tightly balled fist into each hip, ‘see what I mean? I get the blame for everything in this shit-hole!’
Kieron skewered him on the end of a premier-league scowl and hoicked a thumb behind him. ‘Get inside right now!’ he said. ‘And don’t think I won’t pick you up and bring you in,’ he added.
At which point I decided to intervene. I didn’t want the neighbours’ curtains twitching at my latest drama, but nor did I want Tyler antagonising my son. ‘There’ll be no need to do that, love,’ I said quietly to Kieron. ‘Tyler, get in here, now! I mean it.’
But if I thought my own brand of hard talking would do the trick, I was wrong. ‘Fuck off, you fat bitch!’ he yelled back, leaving me stunned. Fat? I knew I’d put on a few pounds in the last year or so (sympathy eating for two and spending too much time with hungry grandsons), but at just under ten stone I preferred to think I was pleasantly plump – at the very worst. Cheeky little sod! But I barely had time to reply when my son barged past me and made a grab for him. ‘In here! Now!’ he said, gripping Tyler firmly by his right shoulder, clearly offended by the weight-slur on my behalf. And if that surprised me, I was totally gobsmacked by what happened next. The 11-year-old whirlwind whirled and, despite the difference in their heights, managed to land a punch that hit Kieron firmly on the chin. Clearly taken aback, Kieron nevertheless held on while Tyler tried to capitalise on his advantage by kicking him in the shins. If it wasn’t so horrifying it would have been comical. Kieron, my six foot three beanpole of a son, was skipping around, trying to fend off kicks, punches and bites, while this little scrap of a kid gave it everything he had. And not just physically – he was giving his all vocally as well, turning the air blue with his colourful language.
‘Get off me, you shitty bastard!’ he screamed as Kieron held on. ‘Get your fucking hands off me, you cunt!’
I was mesmerised, I think, but thoughts of the neighbours again roused me, and I plunged in to try and separate them without delay. ‘Tyler!’ I yelled as I grabbed him by the hoodie. ‘Stop that right now and get inside, you hear me?’
It took some tugging but I eventually managed to get him away and pin both his arms to his sides. I leaned in then, and spoke quietly, close to his face. ‘I swear, Tyler,’ I hissed. ‘I won’t be telling you this again. Get in that house and go to your room. This is your last chance.’
I meant it too. Right then, I did, anyway. We’d had him a scant week and a bit, and, though it was entirely out of character, I could easily see myself calling John and telling him we’d changed our minds. It was so unlike me, but, when I considered it (coolly, as Tyler stood there and scowled at me) I realised that he hadn’t done a single tiny thing that would let me warm to him.
Not that I expected him to do that consciously, of course I didn’t. But with almost every kid I’d ever dealt with, I could see past that. See the tiniest chink of something through their spiky, gnarly armour, sense the pain and the need for love in their bruised souls.
And it was then – at that very moment – that finally I thought I glimpsed it. It was only fleeting; so swift that I could easily have missed it. But as he struggled from my grasp, it crossed his face. It was so subtle; just the tiniest jut of his chin, but I could read it. It said, Go on, then. Hate me. I’ve given you enough ammo now, haven’t I? It was enough – just – to remind me that he was like this for a reason. I let him go then, and he thundered up the stairs.
I was shaking a little as I followed him back inside – I was clearly unused to the adrenalin rush. ‘Oh, Kieron,’ I said, as he bent down to start picking up the larger glass shards, ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. I just can’t believe it,’ I called back, running into the kitchen to get the dustpan. ‘I really can’t, honestly. Are you okay, love?’
Kieron surprised me then, by shrugging it off, and even smiling at me. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Mum, you forget. I deal with little tykes like that every flipping day.’
Which couldn’t be true – either that, or his school had serious discipline issues – but it was still a reminder that my little boy wasn’t a little boy any more and no longer quite as vulnerable.
‘I know you do,’ I said anyway, ‘but you don’t need that sort of thing when