My Dad's a Policeman (3 page)

Chapter Six

‘How did you know I was here?’ I challenged the copper as he herded me back inside.

‘Your foster carer reported you missing. It’s not rocket science. Most kids who run away from foster care go straight home.’ He and the other copper were in the living room now, and I saw them look at the bottle and the state of the room, then exchange a pointed glance. I knew what they were thinking: little wonder the kid’s in care!

‘I’m Chris,’ the other copper said, trying to be friendly, ‘and that’s Gary.’ Gary, who’d caught me out the back, nodded. ‘I’ve seen you and your brother before on the estate,’ Chris continued. Now he’d mentioned it he did look familiar, but we get so many coppers on the estate I wouldn’t have recognised him. ‘Your brother’s Tommy, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah. Do you know where he is?’ I asked. ‘They separated us and I’m gonna find him and bring him home.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Mum put in.

‘Who says?’ I snapped back. ‘You watch me!’

‘OK, OK,’ Chris said, raising his voice to silence me. ‘Let’s not get into another argument.’

I glanced at Mum. She looked so small and fragile beside the two big, strong, smart coppers, and in the mess that was her house, I almost felt sorry for her again.

‘Sit down, both of you,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll phone control and find out what they want me to do now you’ve been found.’

Mum and I sat on the sofa. Chris pressed a button on the phone clipped to the front of his jacket and made contact with the police operator. I watched him as he told control I’d been found at my mother’s and to advise the duty social worker they would wait with me until I was collected.

‘I’m not going back,’ I said, making a move to stand.

‘Sit down,’ Chris said, then into the phone: ‘Tell the duty social worker the kid says he’s not going back to his foster carer.’

‘Will do,’ the female voice on the other end said, and gave a little laugh. I didn’t see anything funny.

Chris finished the call and turned down the volume on his phone; distorted voices crackled in the background. Chris and Gary glanced around the room; then stood a little way in front of us, trying to make polite conversation as they waited for the return phone call.

‘You all right?’ Gary asked Mum after a moment.

‘I think I’ll get a drink of water,’ she said, heaving herself off the sofa. I guessed she was dehydrated from all the booze.

Gary went with her to the kitchen; perhaps he thought she was going to get something stronger than water, which was very possible. Mum always keeps extra supplies of booze in the kitchen for when she’s worried and ‘needs’ a drink. She was obviously very worried now and the effects of the bottle she’d already drunk would be wearing off.

I’ve lived with Mum’s drinking for so long – all my life – so I know the signs and stages. I know when she needs a drink, how much she’s had and when she’s going to be sick or pass out. I’ve cleared up more puke than I care to remember and made sure she’s propped on her side at night so that she doesn’t choke in her own vomit. I’m ashamed to say I’ve even bought booze for her sometimes when she’s had the shakes so bad she can’t get out of bed and begged me to.

‘What team do you support?’ Chris asked me, as Gary returned with Mum, who was trying hard not to slop the glass of water in her trembling hands.

I shrugged. ‘Arsenal, I guess.’

‘Good team,’ Chris said.

‘Na, Tottenham is the one,’ Gary said. ‘They’ll give your lot a right thrashing next month.’

I shrugged again. I really didn’t care who won or lost the match. I knew they were only trying to be friendly, and make conversation to put me at ease, and usually I’m OK talking about football, but not now. Now I couldn’t have cared a stuff about football. I just wanted them out of here and Tommy home.

Shortly Chris answered his phone and the voice of the woman at police control crackled through: ‘I’ve got the duty social worker on hold,’ she said. ‘He says the kid has to go back to the foster carer, and he can’t collect him because he’s on an emergency call. Can you take him there?’

‘I’m not going,’ I said, loudly.

The operator must have heard, for she laughed again. ‘Shall I put the duty social worker on?’ she asked.

‘Yes, put him through,’ Chris said.

A few more crackles and we heard the duty social worker say, ‘Hello?’

‘We’re at Ryan’s house now,’ Chris said, looking at me as he spoke. ‘He says he doesn’t want to return to the foster carer.’

‘Ask him why,’ the duty social worker said.

Now, I could have told the truth and said: ‘It’s not my home and I want to be here with Mum and Tommy.’ But I knew that wasn’t good enough. Any kid in care would rather be at home, no matter how bad home is, rather than with a foster carer. I also knew how politically correct social workers are, especially when it comes to race.

Tommy is a bit darker than me – I guess one of his distant relatives was black. When Duffy visited us she often asked what Mum was doing to meet Tommy’s cultural needs. I mean, I ask you! What crap! Tommy was just Tommy, my little brother and Mum’s second ‘taken advantage of’. He didn’t care about his ‘cultural needs’. We were more concerned with getting enough to eat. But now I wondered if I could turn their crap and use it to my advantage.

‘I don’t feel I fit in at Libby’s,’ I said, looking all forlorn. ‘I don’t match her. I feel right out of place there.’

Chris repeated this to the duty social worker. There was silence. Game to me, I thought. ‘Ask him if he will go there tonight,’ the duty social worker said, ‘and we’ll sort out a new placement tomorrow.’

I shook my head sadly. ‘I’d rather not. It don’t feel right. I can stay here for tonight.’

The duty social worker said something which I didn’t catch but must have been no. Chris shook his head, and then said into the phone: ‘Will do,’ before turning down the volume again. ‘He’s going to call back when he’s found you another carer,’ Chris said to me. ‘What was the matter with your other carer, then?’

‘Nothing,’ I shrugged, which was true – I just didn’t want to be in care. I looked at Mum and hoped she was feeling bad, but she didn’t look at me. She was staring straight ahead and avoiding eye contact. Chris and Gary started chatting again, this time about the weather and the snow that was forecast.

Suddenly I remembered my phone. I wouldn’t be leaving without that again!

‘Can I get a few things from my bedroom?’ I asked.

‘Sure,’ Chris said, and nodded to Gary.

Gary came with me while Chris stayed in the living room with Mum. I saw the look of horror on Gary’s face as we entered my bedroom. The room was as Tommy and me had left it, no worse, but now I saw it for what it was – a stinking tip. We didn’t have a wardrobe or drawers, so our things were all over the floor in heaps and falling out of broken cardboard boxes which acted as storage. The room was littered with empty crisp packets, biscuit wrappers, fizzy drink bottles and the remains of takeaways – mainly pizza, and the room stank of piss. Tommy wets the bed – he can’t help it – and I now realised I should have changed his sheets more often, but we didn’t always have the money to go to the laundrette. I’d never really thought what a pit our bedroom was – lots of kids on the estate live like this – but now I felt embarrassed Gary had seen it. I bet his bedroom wasn’t like this; I bet it was like the one at Libby’s – clean and tidy.

Stepping over the piles of rubbish, I went to the bunk beds and climbed on to the only rung that wasn’t broken. Reaching up to the top bunk, I found my phone and tucked it into my pocket. I glanced around. There was nothing else I wanted; Mum had packed the only clothes that were decent enough to wear and they were in the suitcase at Libby’s.

‘Anything else?’ Gary asked kindly, touching my shoulder. I guess he felt sorry for me.

I shook my head, and we went back into the living room. I sat on the sofa while Gary stood a little way from Chris again. Mum was sipping the water and still not looking at me. A few minutes later Chris answered his phone and police control put the duty social worker through. I heard the duty social worker say he’d found me an emergency placement, and then ask the coppers to take me there.

‘Where is it?’ Chris asked. I couldn’t hear the duty social worker’s reply. Then Chris said: ‘OK, we’re on our way.’

‘No, I’m not,’ I said.

Chris turned down the volume on his phone and looked at me. I could tell he thought this was going to be difficult, and he was right. ‘Say goodbye to your mum, Ryan,’ Chris said, then, trying to joke and make it easier: ‘You’re going for a ride in a police car.’

‘No, I’m not,’ I said.

‘Yes, you are,’ Mum said, still not looking at me.

‘No, I’m not,’ I said, more forcefully.

Chris and Gary looked at me while Mum continued staring straight ahead, unable to meet my eyes. I was starting to feel a bit hot and twitchy now, like I do when I get angry. Don’t lose it, I told myself; calm down. I tried to take a deep breath and count to ten like my English teacher had told me.

‘I think we should go now,’ Chris said, taking a step towards me. ‘I’m sure your new foster carer is lovely.’

‘Yes,’ Mum said quietly. ‘Go with them. It’s for the best. She will look after you.’

‘What?’ I cried, rounding on her. ‘Why should a foster carer look after me? You’re my mother. You had Tommy and me. You should look after us, not some bloody foster carer!’ I was feeling very hot now; I could feel the heat rising up my spine, making me all hot and twitchy. Calm down, Ryan, I told myself, for fuck’s sake calm down or they’ll arrest you.

I was still staring at Mum, fuming and blaming her. At that point I hated her so much I could have slapped her face like I had Duffy’s. Then very slowly, with Chris and Gary watching, she turned and finally looked at me. Her face was grey, the lines around her mouth were deep, her brow was knitted in pain and her eyes filled with tears.

‘Ryan,’ she said quietly, resting her hand on my arm. ‘Ryan, love, I know I should be able to look after you. Believe me, I know. I know I’ve failed you and Tommy dreadfully and I’m so, so sorry. You are my sons and that will never change. I love you and Tommy so much, but I can’t look after you. Look at the state I’m in. It’s not fair on you or Tommy. Please go quietly to your foster carer, and I will try to get better; then they might let me have you back. Go, love; go with them now. Don’t get yourself into trouble. And try not to hate me.’

‘I don’t hate you, Mum,’ I cried, throwing my arms around her and holding her tight. ‘I love you. I want to stay and help you.’ I felt her body jerk as she began to sob and my own tears fell. Chris and Gary stood somewhere behind us and were very quiet as I tried to soothe and comfort Mum. ‘Please don’t cry,’ I said. ‘I’ll go quietly if that’s what you want. Please don’t upset yourself. I can’t leave here with you crying.’ I wanted to reassure her and tell her everything would be all right, that I’d make sure of it, but of course that wasn’t so. I couldn’t help her, Tommy or me, any longer. I had no say in what was happening to any of us.

‘Come on, then, lad,’ I heard Chris say behind me.

Mum pulled away. I looked into her tear-stained face one last time. ‘Go on, son, be brave,’ she said. ‘Be that boy a father would be proud of.’

That was it. I couldn’t bear her hurt any longer. I walked quickly towards the front door. Chris and Gary followed in silence behind me. As we left the house Mum let out the most dreadful cry. It was the worst sound I’ve ever heard. It was the agonising cry of a mother having her child taken away.

Chapter Seven

Policeman Gary closed the front door behind us. The other copper, Chris, unlocked their patrol car, which was parked in the kerb right outside our house. The interior light went on.

‘You all right?’ Gary asked me gently, placing his hand lightly on my shoulder.

I sniffed and wiped the back of my hand over my eyes. Of course I wasn’t all right. How I could be? There was no point in telling Gary that; it wouldn’t have done any good. Tommy was with strangers and Mum was alone, sobbing like she would die. I knew, despite what she’d said about trying to get off the drink, as soon as we’d gone she’d open another bottle – to drown her sorrows. She hadn’t managed to get off the drink with Tommy and me there, so there was crap chance of her doing so now we’d been taken away.

It was nearly 1.00 a.m. and the February night air was freezing. I still only had on my old school jacket; I didn’t own a coat. Chris was climbing into the driver’s seat while Gary was holding open the rear door for me to get in. I glanced back at the house. I knew once I was in the car there’d be no chance of escape until I got to the new foster carer’s, and then it might not be so easy this time. I needed to do something and quickly.

‘You OK?’ Gary asked again, holding the door open and waiting for me to get in.

I hesitated. ‘I need a piss,’ I said.

‘OK. Hold up,’ Gary called to Chris. ‘Ryan needs a pee.’ Then to me: ‘Where are you going to go?’

‘Here,’ I said.

I moved away from the car, towards the house, and began fiddling with my flies. ‘Don’t look,’ I told him, as though I was going to pee up the wall of my house. As soon as he turned his back, I legged it. I ran like the clappers down the short path to the end of our terrace, then left into the alleyway.

‘Hey! Stop!’ I heard him shout behind me, but I was already round the corner and going down the next alley.

I ran flat out, like the devil was after me, and perhaps he was. I could hear two sets of footsteps thundering after me down the back alleys of the estate and echoing in the silence of the night. ‘Stop! Police!’ Chris shouted, but of course I didn’t and there was no one around to hear him and intercept me.

Panting and with my face smarting from the cold, I turned right, then left, weaving in and out of the alleys like they were a maze. I knew these alleys well, much better than Chris and Gary – I’d spent my childhood playing in them. I also knew where the hiding places were, and that there was one a little further up. I made another right and left turn. Then, out of breath, I nipped into the covered recess at the end of Chestnut Close where the bins are kept. Going behind the bins, I squatted in the corner with my chin pressing onto my knees. I kept very still and tried to catch my breath.

I heard the Old Bills’ footsteps draw closer, then their voices, close but muffled by the alleyways between us. My heart pounded. The pair of policemen came closer still, but before they came to where I was hiding their footsteps stopped, then began to fade away. I stayed where I was, straining my ears for any sound of them returning. I waited for what seemed like hours, but it was probably only fifteen minutes. Then I heard their car’s siren as they left the estate.

*  *  *

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was safe for the time being, but very, very cold. I couldn’t stay the night where I was – I’d freeze to death. And I obviously couldn’t go home – the police had said the parents’ home was the first place they looked for runaways. I decided now was a good time to call in a favour from my best mate, Wayne. Wayne owed me. I’d helped him a few times recently when his dad had arrived home drunk, threatening to beat him up. Now Wayne could help me out.

My hands shook from cold as I took my mobile from my pocket and opened it. The screen lit up. Thank God, I thought – at least it was charged – but I knew there was only enough credit left for a couple of texts. Like most kids my age I can usually text very quickly – with one hand and not looking at the keys. But now – with my fingers so cold – it took both hands and all my concentration to tap in the message to Wayne:
In big trouble. Need u 2 hide me. B there in 5.
I pressed the send button. Wayne would know what I meant. The message was the same as the one he’d sent me when he had to escape his father and come and stay at my house for the night (without my mum knowing).

With my mobile in my lap, I sat huddled in the corner behind the wheelie bins, my jacket pulled up around my ears, and waited. I knew Wayne would have his phone on. Everyone I know sleeps with their mobiles. Wayne and me often text each other in the middle of the night. I just hoped he’d hear the text arrive.

A couple of minutes passed and I was about to send the text again when my phone bleeped. I opened it and the screen lit up. It was a text from Wayne:
Sure man. C u in 5.
Wayne calls everyone ‘man’. ‘Thanks, man,’ I said under my breath. I returned the phone to my jacket pocket, blew warm air into my hands and stood up.

Wayne’s house is on the other side of the estate. By the time I got there he’d have crept downstairs and be waiting by the back door, just as I had done for him. Now the police were no longer chasing me I didn’t use the alleys, but walked in the road, watching and listening for their return. The alleys are not the place to be late at night, as drug pushers, perverts and psychos hang out in the shadows. Last year a woman was murdered in one of the alleys late at night. People heard her screaming but were too scared to go and investigate. You don’t have Neighbourhood Watch on our estate.

Wayne was waiting for me and he opened the back door as I approached.

‘Thanks, mate,’ I said as I stepped in. He was dressed for bed in his pants and T-shirt.

‘You’re welcome, man,’ he whispered, and put his finger to his lips, signalling his dad was asleep upstairs.

His dad’s a great fat brute and I certainly didn’t want to meet him now. Wayne quietly closed and locked the back door; then I followed him silently up the stairs. The only light came from the street lamp outside but I knew Wayne’s house well; we’d been mates for years and I hung out there when we bunked off school. We crept into his bedroom and he quietly closed the door. A small bedside lamp in the shape of a spaceship which he’d had as a kid was beside his bed. Wayne’s room is heaps better than mine: his mum did it up a couple of years ago, just before she cleared off.

‘What happened, then, man?’ Wayne asked as we perched on the edge of his bed.

‘Social took me and Tommy into care, but they sent us to different foster carers, so I legged it.’ I decided not to tell him about the police being involved in case it spooked him. Wayne had been in trouble with the police before and I knew he didn’t want any more bother with them.

‘That’s bad, man, real bad to split you up,’ he said, sympathising. ‘Hey, man, you hungry?’ which is what I always asked him when he came to my house.

‘Sort of,’ I said.

He reached under the bed and pulled out an Asda carrier bag, full of crisps, biscuits, cans of fizzy drinks and other junk food. I had a similar bag under my own bed. It was an emergency supply for when there was no other food in the house. I topped it up when Mum had some money, or if she didn’t I’m afraid to say I nicked the stuff from the shop.

I chose a couple of packets of crisps and a can of drink from the bag, and Wayne did the same. We munched, slurped, burped and chatted – about social services taking me from school, my mum, his dad and where his mum could be. He hadn’t even had a text from her since she’d run off with some bloke at work about two years before, leaving Wayne and his older sister with their drunken pig of a father. There was gossip on the estate that Wayne’s father had caught up with her and done her in. It was possible: he was an evil shit. Wayne’s sister has to keep her bedroom door locked at night so he can’t get in.

It was nearly 3.00 a.m. when Wayne finally yawned and said: ‘Hey, man, I’m knackered. Let’s sleep.’

I nodded. I had hoped my mum might have phoned or texted, but I guess she was past doing either of those by now with all the drink. I didn’t have enough credit to phone her and there was no point anyway if she was unconscious. I decide to send her a text so she’d find it when she woke:
Look after urself, I’m fine, luv Ryan xxx.
I wasn’t going to tell her where I was in case the police asked her; Mum can’t lie to save her life.

I took off my trainers, jacket and trousers, keeping on my pants, T-shirt and socks, and climbed into bed beside Wayne. This was how we always slept when he came to my house. There wasn’t much room in his single bed but it was warm and comfortable. Feeling my best mate beside me after everything that had happened was reassuring. We lay flat on our backs, sides touching, and stared at the ceiling for a while.

‘I’m butchered,’ Wayne said, yawning again. He reached out and switched off the bedside light. ‘Night, man. Fart and you’re dead.’

I laughed. ‘Night, and thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, man. What you gonna do in the morning?’

‘Find Tommy.’

‘Cool, man. Don’t oversleep. I need you out of here before my old man’s up or we’ll both catch it.’