My Dad's a Policeman (5 page)

Chapter Ten

I left it as late as possible to eat and spend my last £3.01. It was after 3.30 p.m. when, knackered and starving, I finally returned to McDonald’s – over seven hours since I’d last eaten and had breakfast. I spent ages carefully choosing from the menu on the wall by the tills. I wanted the most filling food I could get for £3. The girl on the till closest to me waited impatiently.

‘Double cheeseburger, fries and a strawberry milkshake,’ I said eventually, giving her the three £1 coins.

She handed me 1p change and began dumping the wrapped food on the plastic tray without the least trace of job satisfaction. ‘Enjoy your meal,’ she said like a robot, as I picked up the tray and moved away.

‘Thanks. I will.’

Again, keeping away from the window seats, I sneaked into a corner and wolfed down the food and drink. Then, as luck would have it, a geezer in a suit sitting at the table next to me rushed off after answering his phone, leaving behind his Big Mac with only one bite missing! Leaning over, I grabbed it quickly and wolfed that down as well, followed by his half-drunk tea. I felt like a tramp scouring the bins for leftovers, but at least the extra food would keep me going for a bit.

I didn’t know for sure what time I should go to Wayne’s but I knew that, when his old man was on nights, he usually left at 6.00 p.m. That was the time me and my mates gathered if we were hanging out there. I’d give his old man fifteen minutes to get clear of the house and aim to be there at 6.15. In the meantime I’d stay in McDonald’s for as long as I could.

At 4.00 p.m. kids from school started drifting in, but I didn’t know any of them well so they left me alone. I wondered what Tommy was doing. I guessed he’d be in his foster carer’s car by now, going ‘home’. I wondered if Andrew, her son, was at the same school as Tommy but decided he wasn’t: Tommy would have said. I also wondered what Mum was doing but pulled back from that thought. There was nothing I could do to help and worrying about her would only make me more upset.

At just gone 5.00, a waitress pointedly asked if I’d finished and began clearing away the empty food and drink cartons. I shuffled to the end of the seat and went downstairs to use their bog. I had forty five minutes to kill before I could head towards Wayne’s. As well as charging my phone I’d ask him if I could stay another night; I’d nowhere else to go. I knew I couldn’t keep staying at Wayne’s but I was sure he wouldn’t mind one more night while I decided what to do. I’d also ask Wayne if I could use his shower. Despite the cold, I’d been sweating with all the walking and I was sure that I was starting to smell.

It was 5.15 when I came up from the bog and left McDonald’s. I walked a little way up the High Street and went into the library. I went to the reading room and took a car magazine from the rack, then settled into one of the comfortable armchairs. I’d used the library before when I’d bunked off school. I knew that, as long as I kept my head down and didn’t make a noise, I could stay there for a very long time. The warmth and comfort of the place, together with the thought of a shower, charging my phone and another night with my best mate, lifted my spirits. Lifted them out of the despair I was starting to feel – until I got to Wayne’s, that is.

*  *  *

I must have had a sixth sense or perhaps, without noticing it, I’d heard a noise. Because, instead of marching straight up to Wayne’s back door where I was expecting to find him waiting, I slowed my pace and kept low. I crept up to the kitchen window and peered in. The kitchen light was on and, set against the dark outside, the room was on display.

Straight in front of me was the old table, covered, as usual, with used mugs, empty beer cans, and dirty plates. As I turned my head and peered further in, to my left, at the far end of the kitchen, I saw Wayne. At the same time, he cried out. I froze. Fear shot through me.

His old man had Wayne pinned up against the wall with one hand and was beating the shit out of him with the other. Wayne’s cheeks were stained with tears and his right eye was already starting to swell. He tried to move his head to get out of the way of the next blow but failed, and cried out again.

‘You’ll do as I say, next time. Won’t you, laddy?’ the pig shouted in Wayne’s face. I saw Wayne was trying to nod but his head was held fast by his dad. His fist landed on the side of Wayne’s head again. I winced and pulled back. I couldn’t just stand there and watch, but there was little I could do beyond distracting the old man in the hope he would let go of Wayne. Clenching my fist, I banged hard on the window, then ran like hell. I was already in the alley when I heard the back door crash open and Wayne’s dad yell: ‘Wait till I get ’old of you, ya little bleeder. You won’t know what’s hit ya.’

I continued running and hoped I’d given Wayne the chance to get away, though fuck knows where he would go now that he couldn’t hide at my place. I ran down the alleyways until I’d put a safe distance between his house and me; then I slowed to a walk. I was hot and trembling – from fear, and anger at seeing my best mate being beaten up by his pig of a father.

So that was how Wayne had got his cuts and bruises, I realised. He’d often arrived in school looking like he’d been in a car crash but, when one of us kids or a teacher had asked him what had happened, he said he’d been fighting with kids on the estate. We’d believed him. Like me, he has a reputation for getting into trouble sometimes but, now I knew the truth, I felt so stupid. How blind and thoughtless I’d been!

I remembered the nights that Wayne had come round to my house to escape his dad’s threats but it had never struck me that he’d actually been beating him up. Wayne hadn’t been cut or bruised when he’d arrived at my house, but of course he wouldn’t have been – those were the times when he’d escaped. It was the other times when he hadn’t managed to escape when he’d been done over. Jesus! Why the fuck hadn’t he confided in me and said something? I knew the answer of course. Wayne hadn’t told me about his dad for the same reason I hadn’t told him about the worst of my mum’s drinking – pride.

Still shaking from what I’d seen, I continued walking up and down the estate’s back alleys. I was tempted to return to Wayne’s house and make sure he was OK, but decided against it. If his old man saw me there, it would be worse for Wayne (and me) and there was nothing I could to do to help him. I was in as much shit as he was – probably more. I just hoped he’d got away.

With my phone dead, I had no way of telling the time, but I guessed it was about 7.00 p.m. It was dark and the winter air was getting very cold, ready for another freezing night. I’d no money – apart from 2 p – and nowhere to go.

My little brother,Tommy, was safe and warm at his foster carer’s, probably on his way to bed. My mate,Wayne, was God knows where. And, as for Mum? I thought of Mum and tears formed in my eyes.

Chapter Eleven

I completed another large circle of the estate; there weren’t many people using the alleyways, now it was getting late. Then I began towards the terrace, Conker Lane, which – until yesterday – had been my home. How long ago ‘home’ now seemed with everything that had happened!

Only yesterday morning I’d woken Tommy and helped him dress and wash before a neighbour took him and her own kids to school. Then I’d checked on Mum, who, after she had set fire to her bed with her cigarette end, had spent the rest of the night on the sofa sleeping off the drink. And, finally, I’d got myself to school, never dreaming social services were plotting to take Tommy and me away from home for good.

I arrived at the end of the alley closest to Conker Lane and peered out gingerly, looking for police cars. The coast was clear. I made my way to the end of the terrace and went round the back. The layout of our terrace is different from Wayne’s: he has his kitchen at the back but that’s where our living room is. Most of the houses in the terrace had their downstairs’ lights on and the curtains open, showing little scenes of family life: kids sitting on sofas in front of a television or PlayStation, a father reading a newspaper, a mother sipping from a mug. Not so in my house, I thought bitterly; and it never was.

I arrived at our back door. Surprisingly, the light wasn’t on and I wondered if Mum was out, but I couldn’t imagine where she’d have gone. I tried the door handle and it opened. Little wonder Mum gets taken advantage of – she’s far too trusting.

I knew I wasn’t doing myself (or Mum) any favours by coming home, but I was almost past caring. With no family, my plans for running away with Tommy in ruins and knowing my best mate had been beaten up regularly by his father, life didn’t really seem worth living. Also, seeing Wayne like that, had made me realise that Mum wasn’t so bad. Yes, she drank heavily and I guess she neglected us, but she’d never once hit Tommy or me, not even when I’d caused her trouble. Underneath all the drinking, she was a good, kind person who loved us, and I loved her. I knew I had to tell her that before I went away.

Going in, and not knowing what state I’d find Mum in, I closed and locked the back door before I switched on the light. Mum jumped. She was sitting at one end of the sofa in the dark. As soon as she saw me she came over and hugged me hard.

‘Ryan, Ryan, love, I’ve been worried sick. Where have you been?’ Her hair was crumpled and she was in the clothes she’d been wearing yesterday, so I guessed she hadn’t gone to bed. ‘I love you, son,’ she said.

‘I love you too, Mum,’ I said and squeezed her tight.

As we hugged I looked around the room for empty bottles – the tell-tale signs she’d been drinking heavily – but I couldn’t see any. I couldn’t smell drink on her either and she seemed reasonably steady in my arms, although very frail and upset.

‘I’ve been worried sick,’ she said again, drawing back slightly. ‘The social worker said you weren’t in school, and the police put out a missing person’s notice. I tried to phone your mobile but it was off. It’s been off all afternoon.’

‘The battery’s flat,’ I said. It was then I noticed the cut on her forehead, partly hidden by her fringe. ‘What happened?’ I asked, lifting her hair away for a better look.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, embarrassed, pulling her fringe down again to cover the gash. I knew she must have fallen the previous night while drunk. It had happened before. ‘I’ll live,‘ she said.

I looked at her steadily. ‘You won’t if you don’t stop drinking, Mum,’ I said, deathly seriously. ‘The drink will kill you and kill you very soon.’

She took her hand from my arm and moved slightly away. ‘Come and sit down, son,’ she said quietly. ‘I need to talk to you.’

I went with her to the sofa and we both sat down. I looked at her sad profile as she rested her elbows on her knees. Looking down, she concentrated on the floor as she spoke.

‘Ryan, love, you are old enough for me to speak to you like an adult,’ she began. ‘Goodness knows, you’ve had the responsibility of one with me being like this. The social worker was here this afternoon.’

I tried to interrupt but Mum raised her hand, motioning for me to listen. ‘Duffy was here for two hours earlier and what she said was right, although I didn’t want to hear it to begin with. She said my drinking was stopping me looking after you boys properly. It has been doing so for some time, which is why social services have been monitoring us.’

I went to butt in again but Mum shook her head. ‘No, hear me out, Ryan. Duffy was right. If it hadn’t been for you, you and Tommy would have been taken into care a long while ago. I’m grateful for all you did, but I haven’t been a mother to either of you. How could I be? I’ve been drunk for most of the time. Duffy said I now had the chance to get my life sorted out. They are going to fund a rehab programme to help get me off the drink. She said they’ll give me a year to get dry and get this place cleared up. She said they will monitor my progress and if, at the end of the year, I am doing well, social services will assess me with a view to having you both back.’

‘And you believe them, Mum?’ I finally cut in. ‘You’ll never get us back! They’ll see to that.’

‘I will,’ Mum said quietly, raising her eyes to mine. ‘I believe them, and I’ve got to believe in myself. I think having you two taken into care has given me the shock I needed to get off the drink once and for all. You can help me by keeping out of trouble and going to school. If you do that, then we will both be working towards you and Tommy coming home.’

I held her gaze. There was a truthfulness in her eyes and a determination in her voice that I couldn’t remember seeing those other times when she’d promised to give up the drink before. Could this time be different? Could she do it this time around? I almost believed she might manage it for, unlike all of her previous promises to stop drinking, this vow was made while she was actually sober.

‘But I miss you and Tommy,’ I said. ‘It’s not fair that we were split up.’

‘I know, love, and it’s something I shall be speaking to my solicitor about.’

‘You’ve got a solicitor?’ I asked, amazed and impressed. ‘When? Where? How?’

She gave a small laugh and took my hand in hers. ‘I phoned the Citizens’ Advice Bureau and they gave me the name of a firm of solicitors who specialise in family law. I phoned them this afternoon after Duffy had gone. I have an appointment with a solicitor tomorrow.’

I didn’t know what to say. I’d never seen this side of Mum before – sober, taking charge and getting organised.

‘As well as working out contact arrangements,’ she continued, ‘my solicitor will be asking the judge to have the two of you placed together while you are in care. He said there is a good chance of this happening. Apparently judges prefer siblings to be kept together, unless there is a good reason why they shouldn’t be, and there isn’t here.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I love Tommy. I wouldn’t hurt him.’

‘Exactly.’ Mum patted my hand gently. ‘Now, Ryan, I know it’s going to be difficult for us all, but I have a year to prove to the social, you, Tommy and myself that I can do this. I need you to be brave and do as I say. In a minute, when we’ve finished talking, I’m going to make you a hot chocolate. Then I’m going to phone the duty social worker and tell them you’re here and ready to return to your foster carer.’

I went to protest again – I wanted to stay with Mum and help her get better – but Mum was shaking her head. ‘No, Ryan,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m doing what is best for you. I’m not having a son of mine hanging round the streets in the day and dossing wherever he can at night. You will be well looked after at Libby’s, and don’t go giving me that crap about not fitting in because of race. It might have worked with the social but it won’t with me.’ She gave a knowing smile and waited for my response.

I smiled back and then, very slowly, I nodded. ‘You’re my Mum, and I’ll do whatever you think is best.’