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A Boy Without Hope: Part 1 of 3. Casey Watson
Читать онлайн.Название A Boy Without Hope: Part 1 of 3
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008298586
Автор произведения Casey Watson
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство HarperCollins
This is a work of non-fiction based on the author’s experiences. In order to protect privacy, names, identifying characteristics, dialogue and details have been changed or reconstructed.
HarperElement
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published by HarperElement 2018
FIRST EDITION
© Casey Watson 2018
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Cover image © Jim Powell/Alamy Stock Photo (posed by model)
Cover layout © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Casey Watson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Source ISBN: 9780008298555
Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008298586
Version 2018-09-19
Contents
This book is dedicated to the army of passionate foster carers out there, each doing their bit to ensure that our children are kept as safe as possible in such a changing and often scary world. As technology is reinvented and becomes ever more complicated for those of us who were not brought up amid such advances, we can only try to keep up, in the hope that we continue to learn alongside our young people.
I remain endlessly grateful to my team at HarperCollins for their continuing support, and I’m especially excited to see the return of my editor, the very lovely Vicky Eribo, and look forward to sharing my new stories with her. As always, nothing would be possible without my wonderful agent, Andrew Lownie, the very best agent in the world in my opinion, and my grateful thanks also to the lovely Lynne, my friend and mentor forever.
Some things are set in stone. That’s as true for me as for anyone. Those little anchor points of life that provide stability and reassurance. The perfect way to make coffee. Tyler’s special breakfast porridge. The fact that Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without at least a dozen strings of fairy lights. Mike’s bear hugs. My many cleaning routines.
Birthdays, too, of course. Not to mention all the associated parties. Particularly those of my grandkids, in which my role was unchanging: chief entertainment officer, chief caterer and, invariably, chief bouncer as well.
I held two hot, sticky hands in mine – those of my two darling granddaughters, whom I was about to lead, suitably subdued, back into the dining room.
‘Now, girls,’ I said in my strictest grandmother voice, ‘are you sure you can go back into the party without arguing?’
Marley Mae, my daughter Riley’s youngest, opened her mouth in indignation. She was never one to shy away from giving the world the benefit of her opinion, but clearly thought better of it having caught my expression. So instead she sighed heavily, as if having been forced to concede a great military defeat.
‘Well?’ I asked.
‘Yes, Nan,’ she said finally, reaching around to wrap her cousin in a bear hug and mumbling the requisite ‘sorry’ as she did so.
My son Kieron’s daughter Dee Dee, now three, was a year younger than her bossier cousin, and though they loved one another, they were both very competitive, so managed to find an argument in just about anything. Today’s anything was a pink balloon, which both had laid claim to, and, in the ensuing scuffle, it was a miracle it hadn’t already popped. Perhaps better that it had, to stop them squabbling over it. As it was, I had tethered it to the bannisters instead, telling them that if they couldn’t share nicely then neither of them could have it. ‘And I don’t want to hear any more about it,’ I told them sternly. ‘This is Jackson’s birthday party. Which means it’s his special day. So no more of this arguing. You both got that?’
They both duly nodded, keen to rejoin the party. So I opened the door and ushered them back into the dining room, where a game of musical bumps had just started.
‘You should have left both of them on the naughty step, Mum,’ Riley said as I rejoined her in the kitchen area. ‘Marley Mae gets four minutes at home when she carries on like that. She needs to learn to share better.’
‘Oh, she will,’ I told my daughter. ‘School will sort her out in no time. It’s only because she has two older brothers who give into her all the time because they want a quiet life.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, though she sounded unconvinced. ‘I wish she could go full-time. She’s more than ready. And so am I! September