Free Nowhere to Go by Casey Watson Page A

unknown quantity – he was never slow in coming forward, and he was brave. He marched up to her and, though she was taller than him by a good seven or eight inches, jabbed an angry finger towards her chest.
    ‘They’ll get you!’ he told her, while his younger brother kept casting anxious glances at me. ‘They’ll get you! They
fucking
will, you witch!’
    His little brother was by now tugging on the sleeve of his school sweatshirt. ‘Ty,’ he was saying, ‘stop it! Please, Ty – just leave it!’
    ‘Tyler,’ I said, grabbing his wrist again, ‘come on. Come
away
.’ I looked at his stepmother, who finally met my eyes and rolled her own.
You see?
they seemed to be saying to me.
You see what I have to deal with?
And before she could get a word out he played right into it too, swinging a leg back, then hammering his foot into her shin. Now she did speak.
    ‘For Christ’s sake!’ she said, mostly to me, finally. ‘He’s a fucking
animal
!’
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, because I didn’t really know what else
to
say. ‘Come on, Tyler. Come on, let’s get you home. Come on, you have to
stop
this.’
    ‘Too bloody right!’ his stepmother said, bending down to rub her shin. ‘Jesus Christ, I can’t even go into the supermarket without being fucking
assaulted
… Grant, will you get right here,
now
!’
    He scuttled to her side and, having at last got a firm grip on Tyler, I left the trolley parked by the fabric conditioners and dragged him away.
    The duty manager intercepted us just as we’d cleared the fruit and veg. ‘Is everything all right?’ he wanted to know, looking anxiously from me to Tyler and back again.
    ‘Everything’s fine,’ I reassured him brightly. ‘Isn’t it, love?’ I added. I didn’t loosen my grip on Tyler, not even a little. Then, before the man could ask anything further I sidestepped him and left them to it. We’d perhaps come back and do the shopping another day.
    And as I walked Tyler to the car – he was crying now, but I pretended I didn’t know that – I remembered that thing car insurance companies always say you should do in the event of an accident. That, even if you know the prang is your fault, you should never say sorry, because that’s the same as admitting liability. That you should never do that, because that’s for
them
to decide.
    This was like that, I decided. Just the same sort of thing. And though I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it mattered to me so greatly, I really wished that I hadn’t said that sorry.

Chapter 7
    It was a 15-minute drive from the supermarket to home, but as I ushered Tyler back up the front path I realised that it wasn’t only him who was still feeling agitated – my own heart was still pumping with adrenalin. No, it hadn’t actually flared up into a full-blown physical tussle, thank goodness, but it had been an ugly, disturbing scene and, more than that, a telling one. It had told me a great deal about the state of affairs in Tyler’s home – none of which filled me with much hope.
    And it seemed events were moving on apace now, as well. As I put my key in the door I could hear the house phone ringing.
    ‘Go on, love,’ I said to Tyler. ‘Get upstairs and change out of your uniform while I get that. Then come straight back down. You and I need to have a chat, okay?’
    Tyler, no doubt glad to be off the leash, ran off up the stairs as instructed, while I made a grab for the phone.
    It was John Fulshaw. ‘Ah, you’re there,’ he said. ‘I was just about to hang up.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I gasped into the receiver, ‘long story. How are you?’
    ‘I have mixed news to give you, I’m afraid,’ John said, without preamble. ‘The good news is that Will Fisher has agreed to do an extra half day a week with Tyler during the school holidays – assuming that suits you, of course – take him off on some outings – swimming, go-karting; that sort of thing. Thought it might give you a bit of extra breathing