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!’
Despite my being pleased to see him animated – he’d become more withdrawn and uncommunicative as Christmas Day had worn on, which I’d put down to the twin evils of anti-climax after the presents and anxiety about seeing his mum – I offered up a silent prayer that fate would be on his side and that he wouldn’t be disappointed. But the little I did know of his mother hardly filled me with optimism. He’d been in care since he was five. That spoke volumes in itself, let alone the fact that it had been a voluntary care order – she hadn’t fought to keep him. Had given him up willingly. And why only Justin in care? Why not the other two as well?
‘My social worker says she’s got loads and loads of stuff for me,’ he went on. ‘I bet I have an even better Christmas today, don’t you, Casey? I bet I will.’
Justin had spoken with Harrison Green on the phone a couple of days back – a mandatory phone call made when a child is first fostered just to check the child is okay and that things are going well. It’s done in private, so the child can be honest if they’re not happy. I hoped that wasn’t the case with Justin, but who knew?
I told him that, yes, he most probably would have a wonderful second Christmas Day, while at the same time cursing