Mikey
had learnt he was adopted by accident – and in a most
hurtful way. Now, Social Services had become involved, Mikey
had been taken into care and he had been abused by Jim, the
head of the Assessment Centre, but now he was moving on.
For
the first part of this article, see the November issue - click
here
For the second part of this article, see the December issue
- click
here
For the third part of this article, see the January issue -
click
here
For the fourth part of this article, see the February issue
- click
here
For the fifth part of this article, see the March issue - click
here
For the sixth part of this article, see the March issue - click
here
Soon
Mikey was beginning to want the buzz he got from the drink and
the drugs, and he realised that they could help to blot out
things - memory, pain, fear, loneliness. He was a short step
from becoming an alcoholic and drug addict.
This
was the moment the ring, for that is what they were, a paedophile
ring, had been waiting for. It was time for Mikey to earn his
fixes by more than being a passive object. They wanted him to
recruit some fresh meat. They thought the homes would be a good
source, and of course Jim knew about me.
Mikey
ran away. The first of many times. He could not, would not recruit
for the gang and above all he would not involve me – no
matter what. So he ran and hid, but only after calling at home
to steal some money and Mum’s pills and the sweet sherry
we kept for Grandma at Christmas. Sadly, Mikey never had chance
to develop a discerning palette.
The
first few times he ran he didn’t know enough to avoid
getting caught, so he got brought back and cleaned up. Sometimes
the ring got him at the weekends. Sometimes he managed to stay
clear of them. Once or twice he almost got free of it all. He
stayed out of their clutches and stopped drinking and drugging.
This was because a couple of the staff latched on to him and
set up a more or less twenty-four hour watch on him and took
an interest. He nearly opened up and told them what was going
on. He began to think that Jim’s threats to show the videos
were a bit hollow, because he hadn’t showed up yet. He
almost thought it was safe to relax. Then one of the staff got
promoted and the other one went on a course. Mikey was on his
own again.
Even
I was busy with other things, swimming club, football practice,
exams. And it had got hard to know when Mikey was in the Unit
and when he was missing. Now, of course, we would both have
mobile phones and would have kept in touch – or I like
to think we would. I also like to think that if so I could have
helped him more, although he would never have let me in to some
parts of his life. He always took being my big brother seriously,
whatever kind of mess he was in.
At
last he got smart enough not to get picked up when he ran away
– either by the good guys or the bad guys. He would dye
his hair, grow it long, cut it short. It was often hard to spot
him, even when we had arranged to meet. Sometimes he looked
quite smart, sometimes he looked like an addicted drop-out.
It depended on what he had been able to steal, or if he had
been to a charity shelter which handed out clothes.
Sometimes
he went off ‘touring’, visiting other parts of the
UK and even going back to our old holiday haunt. When he got
back he would have lots to tell me about what he had seen. But
I am sure I only got the edited highlights. I know he hitch-hiked,
but how did he fund these trips? Later, I guessed that some
of his trips were funded by drug pushers, who would to pay people
like Mikey to take drugs to all parts of the UK. But at least
he was now past being of interest to the paedophiles, especially
since he would not act as a recruiter for them.
Nevertheless,
over time his life-style took its toll. Sometimes out on the
streets for days, or even weeks, in all weathers. Sometimes
with minor ailments, which if treated would have been no problem,
but without became debilitating. Sometimes eating bad food,
or drinking dodgy liquor. Sometimes, as I said earlier, dossing
in squats, which had to be shared with the resident rats and
fleas, bringing another range of health problems.
At
last after I had been trying to nurse him through a chest infection
in a corner of one of his temporary ‘homes’, he
started to tell me his story pretty much as I have tried to
write it down here. I couldn’t grasp it at first. How
could Dad have behaved like that? How could Mikey have kept
it all to himself? How did he survive it all? Why did none of
the grown-ups in his life notice or care enough?
Funnily
enough, his life was probably extended by a few years by a couple
of spells ‘inside’, for bits of thieving and vagrancy.
Fortunately he never got caught for drug offences, which would
probably have attracted longer sentences in more heavy duty
prisons. As it was, he knew how to take care of himself by now
and did not suffer abuse while he was inside. He did get all
his ailments dealt with. He had three meals a day, a clean bed,
plenty of sleep, a bit of exercise in the gym and kicking a
ball around outside most days. He also caught up on his reading
and managed to get in some computer time. In many ways it was
a bit of a continuation of the Adolescent Unit. Some of the
prison officers were quite enlightened and tried to be helpful.
I
think Mikey also got some help from the prison chaplains and
even the psychiatrist in one of the places. They certainly filled
in some of the gaps for me later. Because, as I said, these
periods only served to extend his life by a few years. Eventually,
one night when I was out in the squad car we were called to
a traffic incident.
The
incident turned out to be a hit and run which had left the victim
pretty badly smashed up in the gutter. I bent down to look,
overcoming an urgent need to turn away from the stench coming
from the bundle of rags. There was something which made me look
closer. There was that once familiar twinkle, even as the eyes
began to glaze over. “God, Jon-Jon, don’t say you’ve
come to arrest your big brother!”
My partner was already turning away, sure there was nothing
useful we could do here and wanting to be away from the smell
while we waited for the ambulance. “Come on, Sarge. No
need to hang about. He’s as good as gone”.
“Yes”, I said. “But, pal, that’s my
brother. Get the blanket. I have to take care of him now”.
