Saving Danny
Saving Danny
Cathy Glass
The fifteenth fostering memoir by Cathy Glass.Danny was petrified and clung to me in desperation as I carried him to my car. Trapped in his own dark world, he couldn't understand why his parents no longer loved or wanted him, and were sending him away.While Danny’s parents have everything they could wish for in material terms, they are unable to care for their only child. This is where Cathy comes in. On a cold dark evening Danny finds a place in her home where he can be himself; away from his parents’ impatience and frustration. Often in his own little world, six-year-old Danny finds it difficult to communicate, finding solace in his best friend and confidant George – his rabbit.Cathy quickly becomes aware of his obsessively meticulous behaviour in addition to his love of patterns, he sees them everywhere and creates them at any opportunity – in his play and also with his food. She realises that patience is the key to looking after Danny as well as her well-tried strategies for managing children’s behaviour.With his father refusing to cooperate, it becomes increasingly likely that Danny will be living with Cathy permanently until she gets an opportunity to speak her piece.
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Copyright (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
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London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published by HarperElement 2015
Text Copyright © Cathy Glass 2015
Illustrations Copyright © Nicolette Caven 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photograph © Deborah Pendell/Arcangel Images (posed by model)
Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780008130497
Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780008130503
Version: 2016-08-17
Contents
Cover (#u5bc20ec8-ac55-5ad5-932f-6a3ff5f3b15f)
Title Page (#ulink_530b133e-fd49-5871-9646-1412b5d90c81)
Copyright (#ulink_d882bbda-134c-5e08-8080-f045213a8b45)
Also by Cathy Glass (#ulink_af13ab75-93b3-5a35-ac87-4f0de7e49600)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_e5a9dd44-f908-57cb-ade3-7839bf0e4d10)
Chapter One: Lost and Frightened (#ulink_911ed1bc-cfcc-5a39-86d1-8166bcb67f1b)
Chapter Two: Meticulous (#ulink_3323e775-c38b-5bf7-b470-b0c4b2970af9)
Chapter Three: George (#ulink_1d6c7929-3988-53ed-85c2-a518a5ea1cbf)
Chapter Four: Precise (#ulink_ebbe3876-cd19-5cb2-95d6-286af81b2926)
Chapter Five: Absolute Hell (#ulink_92a3d708-5c8a-505d-87de-349caa8df154)
Chapter Six: Prisoners (#ulink_5f854f06-df8b-5805-b0fb-6477f8aa3526)
Chapter Seven: Crisis Averted (#ulink_495215df-1958-503a-871a-27e6dbc86cb1)
Chapter Eight: A Work of Art (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: Danny Drowning (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Don’t Tell the Social Worker (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: ‘Carrot Before the Donkey’s Nose’ (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Forever? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Cooped Up (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Traumatic (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: Danny’s World (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Making Friends (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: Terri’s Visit (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: Footprints in the Snow (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: Love (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty: Important (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One: For the Good of the Child (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two: No Cavity Club (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three: History Repeating Itself? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four: Significant Development (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five: Stay Calm (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six: Saving Danny (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Another Story … (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Exclusive sample chapter (#litres_trial_promo)
Cathy Glass (#litres_trial_promo)
If you loved this book … (#litres_trial_promo)
Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Cathy Glass (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
Damaged
Hidden
Cut
The Saddest Girl in the World
Happy Kids
The Girl in the Mirror
I Miss Mummy
Mummy Told Me Not to Tell
My Dad’s a Policeman (a Quick Reads novel)
Run, Mummy, Run
The Night the Angels Came
Happy Adults
A Baby’s Cry
Happy Mealtimes for Kids
Another Forgotten Child
Please Don’t Take My Baby
Will You Love Me?
About Writing and How to Publish
Daddy’s Little Princess
The Child Bride
Acknowledgements (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
A big thank-you to my family; my editor, Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; and all the team at HarperCollins.
Chapter One
Lost and Frightened (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
It was dark outside, and cold, at five o’clock on Tuesday, 1 February. I was expecting a six-year-old boy to arrive with his social worker at any moment. Indeed, I’d been expecting them for the last hour. Danny was coming into foster care and Jill, my support social worker, had given me some details about him over the phone two days previously. As well as being six, I knew he was an only child who had learning difficulties and challenging behaviour, which included meltdowns, tantrums and aggression, and his parents – unable to cope any longer – had approached the social services. Danny was coming into care under a ‘Section 20’, also known as accommodated or voluntary care, where the parents agree to the move and retain full legal parental rights. The hope was that Danny would eventually be able to return home.
I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. My children – Adrian, fifteen, Paula, eleven, and Lucy (soon to be adopted), thirteen – were upstairs in their bedrooms, hopefully doing their homework before they watched television or generally relaxed. As I worked I listened out for the doorbell signalling the arrival of Terri, Danny’s social worker, with little Danny. If all had gone to plan Danny’s mother would have taken some of his clothes and toys to his school at the end of the day, where she would have met with Terri, explained to Danny that he was coming into foster care and said goodbye. It would have been an emotional and upsetting parting for mother and son, but they would be seeing each other regularly. Jill was going to arrive with the placement information forms once Terri and Danny were here. However, when the telephone rang I guessed things weren’t going smoothly. Experience had taught me to expect last-minute changes, even if the move was planned, as Danny’s was.
‘I’ve just heard from Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ Jill said. ‘There’s a problem. Danny became very distressed when they told him he was coming into care, even though Terri handled it sensitively and stressed he’d be seeing his mother regularly. Apparently he kicked his mother and ran off screaming. He’s somewhere in the school grounds. Terri and the staff at the school are looking for him. Hopefully they’ve found him by now. His mother was too upset to stay and went home. Terri has asked if you can go to Danny’s school and collect him. She thinks he’ll feel a bit better once he’s met you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave straight away. It should take me about fifteen minutes.’ I knew from the information Jill had already given me where Danny’s school was.
‘Thank you,’ Jill said. ‘Can you let me know when you’re home with Danny? If it’s too late for me to visit I’ll come tomorrow.’
‘All right. Will do.’
We said a quick goodbye and I hurried out of the kitchen and upstairs to where my children were. Thankfully they were old enough now to be left for short periods. When they were younger and I was called out at short notice, as a single-parent foster carer I had to take them with me, which at times was quite disruptive for them. Now, however, I knocked on each of their bedroom doors, stuck my head round and said, ‘Jill’s just telephoned. I have to collect Danny from school. Can you keep an eye on the dinner, please? I should be back in about an hour.’
They knew Danny was coming to stay and that plans in fostering could change without much notice, so their responses were: ‘Yes,’ ‘OK,’ and ‘See ya later,’ followed by a chorus of ‘Bye, Mum.’
Downstairs again, I quickly slipped on my shoes and coat and, grabbing my bag and keys, headed out the front door. I felt the adrenalin kick in and my pulse quicken as I jumped into my car and then drove in the direction of Danny’s school. Poor little mite, I thought. He went to school as usual this morning, expecting to return home to his parents at the end of day, and then his mother and a social worker arrived to tell him he’s going to live with a foster carer – a complete stranger. How devastating, especially for a child like Danny, who already had problems. Little wonder he’d run off. I hoped he’d been found and was calmer now.
I turned into Yew Road where Danny’s school was and the first thing I saw was a police car parked outside, with its lights casting a moving glow over the front of the school building and nearby houses. With a stab of fear I thought the police’s presence must have something to do with Danny. I parked in the road, a little back from the police car, and got out. His school, Yew Primary, like many in the area, had a small tarmac playground at the front and grass playing fields at the sides and rear, which were flanked by shrubs and trees. As I hurried along the pavement and then across the front playground I could see torch lights flickering over the playing fields to the right of the building and hear voices calling, ‘It’s OK, Danny! There’s nothing to be frightened of!’ and ‘Danny, are you there?’ So Danny hadn’t been found and was still out there in the cold and dark.
I went in the main door, which was no longer security locked as it would have been during the day, and then through the empty reception and into the corridor beyond. All the lights were on, but it was eerily quiet and empty. I didn’t know the building, but the layout was clear. It was single storey and I hurried along the corridor towards the door that led out to the playing fields. All the classrooms I passed were empty. School finished at 3.30 and I assumed the staff that hadn’t gone home were probably on the playing field looking for Danny. I pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and stepped outside. A security light flashed on overhead. I could see three torch beams flickering along the edges of the fields as they searched the shrubbery, and male and female voices were calling Danny’s name. Then one female voice came closer.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, stepping out of the dark to stand beside me.
‘I’m Cathy Glass, Danny’s foster carer.’
‘Hello. I’m Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming. It’s a nightmare. I called the police. There are two officers as well as some of the staff looking for him. The police and the caretaker have the torches, but there’s no sign of Danny. Goodness knows where he is.’ In the light of the security lamp I could see Terri looked very stressed and worried, with good reason. She was average height, mid-thirties, with short brown hair, and was dressed in a quilted winter jacket and jeans.
‘How long has he been out here?’ I asked.
‘Nearly an hour now. He has his coat on, thank goodness – or did have, when he fled. It all seemed to be going well, but when his mother began to say goodbye to him, he flipped. He kicked her and ran off crying and screaming. He’s been out here ever since.’
‘Is it possible he’s not in the school grounds?’ I asked, concerned.
‘We’ve searched the building twice,’ Terri said. ‘The police have said once we’ve finished searching the grounds, if we haven’t found him they’ll widen the search and bring in the police helicopter. He could have got out of the school grounds, but it’s unlikely. He would’ve had to scale a six-foot-high fence, which runs all around the perimeter.’
‘What can I do?’ I asked.
‘Help search,’ Terri said. ‘We’re taking it in sections. Come with me.’
I went with her across the dark, damp playing fields as torch beams flickered in the shrubbery like ghostly will-o’-the-wisps. Without a torch visibility was only a few metres, and then all you could see were shadows. I wished I’d brought a torch, but then I hadn’t known Danny was still out here. I followed Terri to a section of the perimeter where no one else was searching and we began peering in and around the bushes, all the time calling Danny’s name. ‘Danny’ echoed in the darkness behind us as the others searching also called his name. We were concentrating on any movement, sound or irregular dark shadow that could be a young boy hiding, huddled small with fear, but there was nothing. I felt a growing dread that he had managed to leave the school grounds, for I knew from experience that when a child is very distraught they can scale heights and run distances they wouldn’t be able to normally. Terri must have been thinking the same thing, for after a few minutes she turned from where she was looking and said, ‘I think we need to bring in the police helicopter now and look outside the school.’
Yet just as we turned to head back to the school, a male voice came from the far side of the playing field: ‘Found him!’
‘Thank God,’ Terri gasped.
We hurried across the dark field in the direction of the voice. The others were doing the same – those with torches had their beams pointed a little ahead, lighting their way. As we drew close to where the voice had come from I saw that it was one of the police officers who had found Danny. His torch was tucked under his arm, and he was holding Danny against his chest. All I could see of Danny was the back of his head and coat.
‘Thank you so much,’ Terri said to the officer.
‘Well done,’ his colleague said to him.
The other searchers had arrived and we formed a small circle around the officer and Danny. ‘You’re OK now, son, aren’t you?’ the officer said gently to Danny.
Danny didn’t reply. His face was buried in the officer’s jacket and his little hands, knuckle-white, gripped his lapels for all he was worth.
‘Thank goodness we found you,’ Terri said, taking a step closer to Danny.
‘Good boy,’ another female voice added.
‘We’ll go into your school now,’ the police officer holding Danny said in a calm and reassuring voice. ‘Then, if you’re all right, you can go home.’
‘To his foster home,’ Terri corrected.
Danny didn’t speak or move.
‘So you’re going to stay with a foster carer,’ the officer said, trying to reassure him ‘That’ll be nice.’
Danny didn’t say anything and remained motionless. The officer turned and began towards the school, and the rest of us followed. As we entered through the door at the rear of the building Danny chanced to peep out and I caught sight of his little round face with pale cheeks and blue eyes wide with fear.
‘Hi, love,’ I said gently. ‘I’m Cathy, your foster carer.’
He buried his head in the officer’s jacket.
Inside the school we congregated in one of the classrooms. We could see each other properly now with the lights on. Three members of staff who’d been on the field helping in the search said that now Danny had been found they’d go home. Terri thanked them and they called goodbye as they left. Then the caretaker said he’d go and start to lock up and would we let him know when we were going.
‘Thanks, Sam,’ a young woman said. Then she introduced herself to me. ‘I’m Sue Bright, Danny’s teacher.’
‘Hello. Cathy Glass, Danny’s foster carer,’ I said with a smile.
The police officer carrying Danny sat on one of the children’s school chairs while the other officer stood by the closed classroom door – possibly to stop Danny if he tried to run off again, although that didn’t seem likely. He remained very quiet and still, with his face buried in the officer’s chest so that only his mop of blond hair was visible.
‘Danny,’ Terri said, squatting down beside him. ‘Are you OK?’
Danny didn’t respond.
‘I expect you’re hungry,’ she said. ‘Cathy, your foster carer, is going to take you home in her car soon and give you a nice hot dinner. Then, when you’ve had a sleep, she’ll bring you to school tomorrow and you’ll see your mother.’
Danny remained motionless. He didn’t acknowledge that he had heard Terri or even that she was there.
‘Danny,’ his teacher, Sue, now said, stepping forwards. ‘It’s getting very late. All the other children have gone home. We’re all going home too. You are going to Cathy’s house for tonight and then we’ll see you tomorrow in school.’ She came across as very caring and had spoken to him gently, but he didn’t respond.
‘We’ve got a meeting here tomorrow at nine o’clock,’ Terri now said to me.
I nodded, more concerned with getting Danny home than a meeting in the morning.
‘Danny, time to go home with Cathy,’ Terri said, touching his hand.
Danny snatched his hand away and tucked it beneath his coat but didn’t say anything or look up. The police officer standing by the door answered his radio and we heard a female voice at the control centre ask if he and his colleague could attend an RTA (road traffic accident). The officer replied that they could, as Danny had been found safe and well. When he’d finished he joked to us: ‘That was my mum telling me dinner was ready,’ and I smiled.
‘Danny, time to go with Cathy now,’ Terri said again. ‘I’ll phone your mother and tell her you’re safe, then she’ll come to school to see you in the morning.’
Danny still didn’t move or speak. Clearly he had to come with me, so Terri lightly lifted his arm and began easing him away from the officer. Danny didn’t resist. I stepped forward ready to take him and Terri and the officer lifted Danny into my arms. As soon as his little body touched mine he wrapped his legs tightly around my waist, grabbed my coat sleeves and buried his head in my chest. I breathed a sigh of relief now that I had him safe. It was just a matter of getting him into my car and home. Some six-year-olds are quite heavy, and being of a slight build myself I would have had difficulty carrying them, but Danny was as light as a feather – too light for a child of his age, I thought.
‘We’ll see you to your car,’ said the police officer who’d been holding Danny.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Here’s his bag,’ Terri said, passing a large canvas holdall to the officer.
‘I’ll phone your mother now,’ Terri said to Danny, staying behind. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘See you tomorrow in school,’ his teacher said to us as we began towards the classroom door.
‘Yes, see you tomorrow,’ I replied.
Danny didn’t make a sound, but his legs tightened around my waist and his fingers gripped my coat. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ I reassured him. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
The officer standing by the classroom door held it open for me and I carried Danny out of the classroom and along the corridor. His teacher and social worker stayed behind. I would see them both at the meeting in the morning. The officers came with me and opened the main door and I stepped outside into the cold and dark again. Danny tightened his grip further and I held him close and talked to him gently, reassuring him that everything would be all right. I passed my car keys to the officer and he unlocked my car and opened the door. The officer holding Danny’s bag put it on the passenger seat and then they waited while I lifted Danny into the child’s car seat. He was still clinging desperately to me and I had to gently release his grip, all the time talking to him reassuringly. Once in the car seat he didn’t look at me but pulled his head down into his coat. I fastened his seatbelt, checked it and then straightened. The officers said goodbye to Danny before I closed the rear door.
‘Doesn’t say much, does he?’ the officer who’d been holding him remarked.
‘He’s scared stiff,’ I said. ‘Thank you for your help.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He handed me my keys and began towards the police car.
I opened the driver’s door and climbed in. Before I started the engine I turned and looked at Danny. ‘Try not to worry, love,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be all right.’
But Danny pulled his head further down into his coat, and I thought the sooner we were home the better.
Chapter Two
Meticulous (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
As I drove I glanced in the rear-view mirror to check if Danny was all right, but he kept his head down, buried deep in his coat, so I couldn’t see his face. I talked to him in a calm and reassuring manner, but he didn’t reply or say anything – not once. Even when I told him he’d be able to have ice cream and chocolate pudding for dessert, which would have elicited a response from most children, there was nothing from him. Nothing to say he’d even heard. I was relieved when we arrived home.
‘We’re here,’ I said to him as I pulled onto the drive.
I cut the engine, got out and walked round to the passenger side where I took Danny’s holdall from the seat and hooked it over my shoulder. I then opened Danny’s door, which was child-locked. ‘We’re here, love,’ I said again.
Danny remained silent and sat very still; he didn’t even raise his head to have a look at his new surroundings as I thought he might.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’ I released his seatbelt.
As I slipped my arms around his waist to lift him out he leapt at me, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck and his legs around my waist as he had done before. I manoeuvred him out of the car and then pushed the door shut with my foot.
‘This is my home,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be your home too, for a while.’
I carried him across the drive to the front door and went in. ‘My son and my two daughters live here too,’ I said as I closed the door. ‘They’re looking forward to playing with you.’
Nothing. Danny clung to me in desperation, his head in my shoulder. I set his holdall on the floor, then lowered him into the chair by the telephone table. His arms and legs were still wrapped around me, so I had to gently release them.
‘Let’s take off our coats and shoes and then we’ll have something to eat,’ I said. I could smell the casserole I’d left in the oven and I hoped one of the children had remembered to switch it off.
Danny was sitting where I’d put him on the chair, motionless and with his chin pressed into his chest. I was starting to find his silence and complete lack of reaction to anything I said worrying. I knew from Jill that there were concerns about his language skills and general learning development, but there’d been no mention of deafness. Danny’s prolonged silence and indifference to the noises around him suggested a child who couldn’t hear. He wouldn’t be the first child I’d fostered who had hearing loss – either from birth or as a result of a trauma to the head – that hadn’t been diagnosed.
I took off my shoes and hung my coat on the hall stand. Then I began undoing the zipper on Danny’s coat, but as I did so he suddenly pulled back and hugged his coat tightly to him, clearly not wanting to take it off. ‘Are you cold?’ I asked him. He didn’t feel cold and the car had been very warm. He didn’t reply but clutched his coat to him as if for protection. ‘OK, let’s take off your shoes first then,’ I said easily.
I knelt down and unstuck the Velcro first from one shoe and then the other, and slid them off. Danny didn’t object, and I paired his shoes with ours beneath the coat stand. ‘We’ll leave your shoes here, ready for morning,’ I explained, but he didn’t respond.
Danny’s shoes, coat and what I could see of his school uniform beneath his coat appeared to be quite new and of good quality, unlike many of the children I’d fostered, who’d arrived in rags and with their toes poking through worn-out trainers. I now made another attempt to take off his coat, but he clung to it.
‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘Leave it on for now, although I think you’re going to be hot in the house. The heating is on.’
Danny didn’t answer, nor did he look at me. He kept his chin down, his little face expressionless. But any thoughts I’d entertained about him being deaf now vanished. Upstairs Paula opened her bedroom door. Danny heard it and looked up anxiously. ‘That’s Paula,’ I said to him. ‘One of my daughters.’
He lowered his head again.
‘Come and meet Danny,’ I called to Paula, and she came downstairs. ‘He’s feeling a bit lonely at present, but I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets to know us all.’
‘Hello, Danny,’ Paula said softly, going up to him. ‘How are you?’
His head was down but he gave the smallest of nods. It was the first sign of recognition from him and I was pleased. ‘Well done, Paula,’ I said.
‘The dinner was ready, Mum, so I switched off the oven,’ she said.
‘Thanks, love. I was longer than I thought I’d be.’
‘And Jill telephoned,’ Paula said. ‘Lucy answered it. Jill thought you’d be back and asked if you would phone her when you returned.’
‘Yes, I’ll phone her now,’ I said.
Lucy and Adrian called ‘Hi’ from the landing and then returned to their rooms to finish their homework. They’d come down and meet Danny properly later. I looked at Danny. He was going to have to get off the chair now and come with me.
‘Danny, we’re going into the living room,’ I said. ‘There are some toys in there for you to play with. I’ll unpack your bag later.’ I’d sorted out a selection of age-appropriate games and puzzles for him to play with that afternoon.
Danny didn’t move or say anything.
‘Come on, love,’ I said, gently taking his arm. ‘You can’t stay here.’
Paula was looking a bit concerned. Most children arrived with something to say – some had plenty to say. I eased him off the chair, took his hand and led him gently down the hall and into the living room.
‘He’s still got his coat on, Mum,’ Paula said.
‘Yes, he’s going to take it off later, aren’t you?’ I said to Danny, but there was no response.
Now he was standing I could see just how small he was. I’d previously fostered a four-year-old girl, Alice, whose story I told in I Miss Mummy, but Danny, two years older, was about the same size as her, and definitely well below the average height and weight for a boy of his age. Perhaps his parents were of small stature, I thought, which could account for it.
Danny looked at the toys in the centre of the living room but didn’t immediately go to them as most children would have done, so I led him over. ‘Do you like building bricks?’ I asked, pointing to the Lego. ‘Perhaps you’d like to build a car? Or a castle, or a boat, or a house?’ I suggested.
He didn’t say anything but did squat on the floor by the toys, where he just sat staring at them.
‘I need to phone Jill,’ I said to Paula.
‘I’ll play with him,’ she offered.
‘Thanks, love.’
Paula knelt on the floor beside Danny while I sat on the sofa and picked up the handset from the corner table. It was after office hours, so I keyed in the number for Jill’s mobile and she answered straightaway.
‘It’s Cathy. Danny’s with me,’ I said. ‘We’ve just got in.’
‘Is everything OK?’ Jill asked.
‘I think so. It took a while to find him. The police were there. But he’s safe now. I’ll give him some dinner soon.’ I couldn’t say too much as Danny was within earshot, and I didn’t want to leave him so soon after arriving and phone from another room.
‘Is Terri with you?’ Jill asked.
‘No, she stayed behind to telephone Danny’s mother and tell her Danny had been found. There’s a meeting at school first thing in the morning. At nine o’clock.’
‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ Jill said. ‘I won’t be able to attend. I’ve got a child’s review booked in at nine-fifteen. It’s been in the diary for a month.’
It was more important for Jill to attend a child’s review than the meeting at Danny’s school, and Jill knew that as an experienced foster carer I’d be all right to attend the meeting without her, otherwise she would have arranged for another support social worker from the fostering agency to accompany me.
‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know what happens.’
‘Thanks. I’ll visit you and Danny tomorrow after school,’ Jill said. ‘Four o’clock?’
‘That’s fine. We’ll be home by then.’
‘And you’ve got everything you need for tonight?’ Jill asked.
‘I think so. Danny’s come with a holdall. Terri didn’t say he had any allergies or special dietary requirements, so I assume there are none.’
‘There’s nothing in the essential information forms,’ Jill confirmed. ‘And he hasn’t come with any medication?’
‘Not as far as I know, no.’
‘All right, well, good luck then, see you tomorrow.’
We said goodbye. I replaced the handset and looked at Danny. He was now watching Paula put together the pieces of Lego but wasn’t making any attempt to join in, although Paula was encouraging him. It was 6.30, and I really needed to get the dinner on the table. Danny was calm, so I asked Paula if she could stay with him while I went into the kitchen. I went over to Danny to tell him what was going to happen. When a child first arrives I find it helps them if routines, practices and expectations are explained as they arise. Households vary and what is obvious and familiar to members of one household won’t be to another. It helps them to settle in if they have a routine and know what to expect.
‘Danny,’ I said, squatting down so I was in his line of vision (although he didn’t make eye contact), ‘it’s nearly time for our dinner, so I’m going into the kitchen to finish making it. Then we’ll all sit at the table and eat. Paula is going to stay here with you, while I’m in the kitchen. All right?’
He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me, but I now knew he could hear, so I continued. ‘If you need anything, tell Paula. Do you need the toilet yet?’ I thought to ask.
Danny gave a small shake of his head.
‘OK. Good boy. When you do, ask Paula or me, and I’ll show you where it is.’ Usually, I took a new child on a tour of the house soon after they’d arrived so that they knew where everything was, and normally they were inquisitive and ready to have a good look around, but Danny wasn’t. He was clearly struggling with all the changes, so I thought I’d leave the tour for another time. He was a child who needed to take things very gradually, one step at a time.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked him as I stood.
He gave another little shake of his head.
‘I’ll leave the door open so you can hear me in the kitchen,’ I said. I went to touch his shoulder – a little reassuring physical contact – but he moved out of reach. Not rudely, just showing he didn’t want to be touched, which I understood. I hoped that would change in future when he got to know me, for if there was ever a child who looked in need of a hug, it was Danny.
As I worked in the kitchen I could hear Paula talking to Danny, encouraging him to play, but there was nothing coming from Danny. I would learn more about his language delay and general development at the meeting at his school the following morning, when I would also meet his mother.
Once dinner was ready I went into the living room where Paula and Danny were sitting on the floor as I’d left them. Paula had built a small house out of Lego, complete with windows, a door and a potted plant on the doorstep. Danny appeared not to have even touched the Lego. There were other games and toys within his reach, but he hadn’t attempted any of them, despite Paula’s encouragement.
‘Very nice,’ I said to Paula, admiring her house.
She grinned. ‘I’ve always liked Lego.’
‘I know. Dinner’s ready,’ I said to them both. ‘I’ll call Adrian and Lucy.’
I left the living room and went to the foot of the stairs where I called up to Adrian and Lucy. They replied that they’d be down straightaway. I returned to the living room where, to my slight surprise, Danny was slowly undoing the zipper on his coat. Then he began struggling out of it – difficult while sitting down. Paula instinctively reached out to help him, but he pulled away from her. She looked at me and I motioned for her not to worry. Fiercely independent, Danny struggled out of his coat and then clutched it protectively to his chest.
‘Danny, we’re going to eat now,’ I said, going over to him.
He didn’t look at me or reply, but he did stand up.
‘Wotcha!’ Lucy said to Danny, as she bounced into the living room. ‘I’m Lucy, Cathy’s other daughter. How are you doing, Mister?’
Danny didn’t look at her.
‘I was a foster child once,’ Lucy said, trying to reassure him. ‘So I know how you feel. But you’ll be fine here, I promise you. You’ll be well looked after and will soon feel at home.’
Bless her, I thought, although Lucy’s arrival as a foster child had been very different to Danny’s. She’d been older and had been grateful for the stability that being in care offered. I wondered if Danny would respond to her approach, but he didn’t; he just clutched his coat and stared at the floor. He looked so lost and alone I dearly wished I could reach out and hug him, as I’m sure Paula and Lucy did too, but clearly Danny was nowhere near ready for that yet.
‘Let’s eat,’ I said.
Lucy turned and led the way into the kitchen-cum-dining room with Paula following and then Danny and me. Danny was still clutching his coat.
‘This is where you sit,’ I said to Danny, drawing out the chair. We tended to keep the same places at the table, partly from habit but also because it helped the children I fostered to settle in if they knew where to sit. It became known as their place, and some even wrote their name on a piece of paper and stuck it to the back of the chair.
Danny was standing by his chair, still holding his coat. ‘Shall I put your coat with ours in the hall?’ I asked him.
He shook his head.
‘Hang it on the back of your chair then,’ I said, ‘so it doesn’t get food down it. It’s a nice coat. You don’t want it spoilt.’
Thankfully, Danny did as I asked and very slowly and meticulously draped his coat around the chair-back, and then spent time adjusting and straightening it.
‘That’s cute,’ Lucy said, watching him. Indeed it was, but it was also a little odd. Most boys of Danny’s age would have happily thrown their coat on the floor, not spent minutes perfecting its position. Adrian still dumped his coat on the floor sometimes if he was in a hurry.
‘Sit down now,’ I said to Danny, for having arranged his coat to his satisfaction he was still standing by the chair.
There was a small delay, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, before he climbed onto his chair.
Adrian arrived and said, ‘Hi, Danny,’ as he took his place at the table.
Danny lifted his head slightly in Adrian’s direction but didn’t look at him.
‘This is my son Adrian,’ I said to Danny.
‘Hi, Danny,’ Adrian said again, but Danny still didn’t reply.
‘It’s bound to take Danny a while to get used to us all,’ I reassured everyone.
I served dinner and then sat in my place at the end of the table. Danny and Paula sat next to each other, to my right, and Adrian and Lucy to my left. We all began eating except little Danny, who sat motionless with his hands in his lap, staring at the contents of his plate. I’d given him a spoon as well as a knife and fork, but he made no attempt to pick up any of them. ‘It’s chicken and vegetable casserole,’ I said. ‘Try some. I’m sure you’ll like it.’
‘It’s nice,’ Lucy encouraged.
‘Yummy,’ Paula said.
Danny didn’t move or make any attempt to start eating.
‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘You need to eat something,’ I picked up his spoon and placed it on the edge of his plate, ready for him to use.
After a moment he slowly picked up the spoon, but instead of dipping it into his food to start eating he set it down again. He repositioned it precisely beside his plate and then picked it up again. Independent, or resenting my help? I didn’t know. My children had seen this, but they knew better than to comment. Nor did they say anything about what Danny did next. Having picked up his spoon, he didn’t use it to start eating but began separating out the various components of the casserole. He arranged them in little heaps around the edge of his plate so that after a while there was a little pile of chicken pieces, another of diced potatoes, another of sliced carrots, and a mound of peas. You couldn’t really call it ‘playing’ or ‘toying’ with his food – it was too exact and precise for that. My children and I watched mesmerised – surreptitiously, of course, so Danny didn’t notice.
‘Are you going to eat it now?’ I asked him eventually.
Danny gave a small nod and then, using his spoon, began eating his food, one pile at a time. First the chicken, then the potatoes, carrots and peas. It wasn’t how one would normally eat a casserole, but the important thing was that Danny was eating. He finished it all and then spent some minutes scooping up the gravy until his plate was clear.
‘Good boy,’ I said.
He was the last to finish, and I now stood and began gathering together the dirty dishes. As I did, Danny finally spoke. He said one word: ‘George.’
Chapter Three
George (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
We all looked at him. We couldn’t help it. Danny suddenly speaking had taken us all by surprise.
‘George?’ Paula and I chorused together.
‘Who’s George?’ Lucy asked.
‘George,’ Danny repeated. ‘George. George.’
‘Tell me who George is,’ I said, ‘and I can help you.’
Danny stared around the room and then towards the kitchen as though he was looking for something or someone. ‘George,’ he said again, louder. ‘George!’
‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked, trying to make eye contact with him.
But he didn’t look at me or reply. He was staring around searchingly, clearly looking for something, but what or who? He was also growing increasingly anxious in his demands for George. ‘George! George!’
‘Is George a person?’ I asked him.
He didn’t reply.
‘A toy, maybe?’ I suggested. ‘Is George a toy in your holdall?’ I was envisaging a favourite toy packed by his mother that went everywhere with Danny and he couldn’t be separated from. But Danny shook his head vigorously.
‘George!’ he shouted again. Sliding off his chair, he ran into the kitchen and to the back door. I went after him.
‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked again.
‘George!’ he said, facing the back door as though George could be outside. ‘George! George!’ Danny was very agitated now and close to tears.
‘Danny, there’s no one out there, love,’ I said, going up to him. ‘George isn’t out there. Tell me who George is and I can help you.’
Danny turned from the door and looked around him, bewildered. Then he threw himself onto the floor, face down, and began sobbing and beating the tiles with his fists and feet. I knelt beside him and placed my hand lightly on his arm, but he wriggled out of reach and sobbed louder. Adrian, Paula and Lucy had fallen silent at the table and were looking at him, very worried.
‘George!’ Danny cried at the top of his voice as if he thought George might be able to hear him. ‘George!’
‘Danny, calm down,’ I said, staying close to him. ‘I’ll do what I can to find George.’
But he didn’t calm down; he continued sobbing loudly, crying out for George and beating the floor as his upset began to escalate into a tantrum. Sometimes, when a young child has a tantrum, holding them close and soothing them can ease them out of it, while older children often have to work through it before they can be held. Danny was so little and vulnerable my instinct was to pick him up, but given his resistance to physical contact I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.
‘Danny,’ I said, lightly touching his arm again, ‘can you tell me who George is?’
There was a small pause before he cried, ‘No!’ and thrashed around on the floor even more.
‘I can’t help you unless I know what it is you want,’ I said more firmly.
‘George!’ Danny yelled at the top of his voice.
At that moment Toscha, our rather lazy cat, perhaps intrigued by the commotion going on indoors, leapt in through the cat flap. Danny suddenly fell quiet – from shock, I think – and, sitting bolt upright, stared at Toscha. She threw him a disparaging glance and then sauntered over to her food bowl.
‘Not George!’ Danny cried, pointing to Toscha.
‘No. That’s Toscha, our cat,’ I said.
‘Not George!’ Danny cried again as though it was her fault.
‘No, our cat,’ I repeated. Danny got onto all fours and crawled to the cat flap and pushed it open.
‘Is there something you want to see outside?’ I asked.
Danny nodded vigorously.
‘Can you bring me Danny’s coat and shoes, please?’ I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula. I was wearing slippers, but Danny only had on his socks. Paula stood and went into the hall for Danny’s shoes while Lucy unhooked his coat from the chair and brought it to me.
‘Thank you,’ I said with a reassuring smile.
Danny was calmer now he knew he was going outside, although what he expected to find out there I’d no idea – I could foresee another tantrum when he was disappointed.
‘Do you want me to get your coat, Mum?’ Paula asked, arriving with Danny’s shoes.
‘No thanks, love. We won’t be out there for long. It’s cold.’
I set Danny’s shoes on the floor beside him. ‘Shall I put them on for you or do you want to do it?’ He took first one and then the other, quickly stuffing his foot in and doing up the Velcro. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now stand up and put your coat on.’ I held his coat out ready for him. There was a moment’s pause, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, and then he slipped his arms into each of the sleeves and drew his coat around him.
‘I want you to hold my hand when we go out into the garden,’ I said to him. ‘It’s dark and there’s a step outside. I don’t want you falling.’ Also, not knowing what Danny wanted to do in the garden, I was concerned he might be thinking of running off and hiding again as he had done at school.
Danny didn’t offer me his hand, so I repeated that he needed to hold my hand before we went into the garden. After another pause he did as I’d asked. ‘Good boy,’ I said, taking every opportunity to praise him.
I opened the back door. The light from the kitchen shone out illuminating the step, and I helped him over it. Once outside Danny began looking around again anxiously. ‘George?’ he asked. ‘Where George?’
‘I don’t think we’re going to find George here,’ I said gently.
‘George,’ Danny repeated. Still holding my hand, he led me round the back where we stood on the patio facing the house. He pointed to the wall beneath the kitchen window. ‘George?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘George?’
‘Did you think George would be here?’ I asked him. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry, love, he’s not. I expect he’s at your house. Who is George?’
Danny opened his mouth as if to answer, but it was as though he couldn’t find the right word, so he said something else instead – ‘George needs dinner’ – and his eyes filled with tears.
Then it dawned on me. ‘Is George an animal?’ I asked.
Danny gave a very small nod.
‘Is George your pet who lives outside?’
Danny nodded. ‘George needs feeding.’
‘I expect your mother has given George his dinner,’ I reassured him. ‘What type of animal is George?’
Danny looked around, bemused, apparently unable to find the right word.
‘Does George live in a cage?’ I asked, narrowing down the possibilities.
Danny nodded.
‘Is he a rabbit?’
Danny turned to me, and for the first time since I’d collected him from school and brought him home he made eye contact. ‘Yes. George Danny’s best friend,’ he said so sadly I could have wept.
‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘I understand. Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.’
Danny still had his hand in mine and he slowly turned away from the place where he thought George would be. He looked lost and utterly defeated as he allowed me to lead him back indoors.
Danny’s assumption that George had come with him to live with us was, I felt, logical for a child of six. Danny had come to stay, so why shouldn’t his beloved pet and best friend have come too? It would have helped Danny if his mother or his social worker had explained to him more fully about coming into care – or perhaps they had, for I was realizing that Danny was a child with very special needs who not only had difficulty with language but seemed to have great difficulty processing information as well. I wondered if he’d been assessed.
Danny appeared slightly dazed by what had happened and let me help him out of his coat and shoes without protest. Paula took them into the hall. He was too preoccupied with George’s absence to notice that his coat had gone to hang with ours on the coat stand. I explained to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that George was Danny’s much-loved pet rabbit, which he had hoped had come with him. I could see from their expressions that they were as moved as I was by Danny’s upset, for they appreciated the bond that existed between pets and their owners from having Toscha with us for so many years.
‘Come on, Danny,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and sit down and I’ll try to explain what’s going on.’
I took him into the living room where I asked him to sit on the sofa. He clambered on and I sat next to him, close but not touching, which, to a child such as Danny who wasn’t naturally tactile, could have felt threatening and like an invasion of his personal space.
‘No George?’ he asked sadly, without looking at me.
‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house, safe and warm. I’m sure your mother will have given him his dinner.’
Danny shook his head and tried to say something, but nothing came out.
‘Do you usually feed George?’ I asked him.
He nodded.
‘After you’ve had your dinner?’ I asked. From the way Danny had left the table and started looking for George as soon as he’d finished his dinner, I thought it was probably a routine.
He nodded again.
‘Danny, I need you to listen carefully to what I am going to tell you. My name is Cathy and I’m a foster carer. I look after children to help their parents. You’ll still see your mummy and daddy, and you’ll be going to school as normal. But you are going to live with me for a while. Your mummy and daddy love you, and George loves you too. You mustn’t worry about any of them. They are all safe.’ I’d no idea what Danny understood about coming to live with me, but I knew from experience that many children who came into care fretted and worried that something dreadful had happened to their parents and any loved ones they’d left behind. Once they’d seen them again at contact they were usually reassured. ‘Your mummy and daddy are safe at home, and George is safe in his hutch,’ I said.
‘George here,’ Danny said.
‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house.’
‘George here,’ Danny repeated, growing anxious again. I was puzzled that he was still asking as clearly he’d seen for himself that George’s hutch wasn’t outside.
‘No, love. George is at your house,’ I said again.
‘No! George here!’ Danny cried more insistently. It was then I realized that ‘George here’ now meant something different and was no longer a question.
‘You want George here?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘I understand.’
This was a difficult one, because pets don’t usually accompany a child into care. Reasons for this include that it isn’t always practical, members of the foster family may have allergies to animal fur, the animal might be unsafe (this usually applies to dogs), or the parent(s) might not want the pet to go with the child, which is understandable as they can be as attached to it as the child. But this was a little rabbit we were talking about that lived in a hutch outside. None of us were allergic to fur and I didn’t mind pets, so I decided not to immediately rule out the possibility of George coming to stay with us, but neither was I going to give Danny false hope.
‘I’ll talk to your mother about George when I see her tomorrow at school,’ I said to Danny.
‘Need George,’ Danny said despondently with his head down. I felt so sorry for him.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘We’ll see what your mother says tomorrow.’
This was the best I could offer and it seemed to reassure Danny a little, for he climbed off the sofa and went over to the games and puzzles that were still laid out on the floor. Kneeling down, he began to play with the Lego. I was pleased; this was a good sign. When a child feels relaxed enough to play it shows they are less anxious and starting to settle in.
However, as I watched Danny picking the Lego bricks out of the box and laying them on the floor, I saw that he wasn’t using them to build a house or car or any other object; he was arranging them end to end in a line. After a few minutes it was clear he was creating a multicoloured line of bricks, and I saw a pattern emerging from the different brick sizes and colours he was using: large white, small pink, large yellow, small red, blue, green, etc. I watched, impressed, as he concentrated hard and carefully selected each brick from the box and added it to the line. When the pattern had repeated three times he placed a large blue brick at right angles to the previous red brick to turn the corner, then added a green one at right angles to that and started creating a second line running parallel to the first with an identical repeating pattern. I’d never seen a child use Lego like this before, so intricate and precise. Maintaining the pattern he completed a third and then a fourth line, then halfway through the fifth line he ran out of red and blue bricks. He looked at the house Paula had previously built, which was an arbitrary arrangement of red, yellow and blue bricks.
I immediately realized what Danny wanted and called through to Paula, who was still at the dining table talking to Adrian and Lucy. ‘Is it all right if Danny breaks up your Lego house so he can use the bricks?’ I didn’t think she’d mind, but it seemed right to ask her.
‘Sure,’ she called back easily.
‘Go ahead,’ I said to Danny. ‘You can use Paula’s house.’
He picked up the Lego house and carefully dismantled it, then separated the bricks into their different colours. He completed a fifth and sixth line of bricks in the same sequence. There were six bricks left over and he returned those to the box. He then carefully put the lid on the box and pushed it away, out of sight, as though he didn’t want to be reminded of the rogue bricks that hadn’t fitted in. He sat back and contemplated his work. It had taken him about fifteen minutes.
‘Well done,’ I said, going over. ‘That’s a fantastic pattern.’
I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula to come and see what Danny had made and they dutifully traipsed in. But once they caught sight of his innovative use of Lego their expressions changed to surprise and awe as they admired the impressive six-line sequenced pattern. Here was a child with learning difficulties and very limited language skills producing a complex pattern.
‘That’s better than my house,’ Paula said kindly.
‘It’s the work of a genius!’ Lucy declared.
‘Where did you get that idea from?’ Adrian asked, obviously impressed.
Danny didn’t answer.
I assumed Danny would be pleased with the praise and admiration he was receiving – most children would be – and that he would show it by smiling, but he didn’t. His face remained expressionless, as it often was, and he continued to stare at the Lego pattern.
‘Very good,’ I said again. ‘We’ll leave it there while we have some dessert.’
‘What is for dessert, Mum?’ Adrian asked.
And before I could answer, without looking up, Danny said, ‘Ice cream and chocolate pudding.’
‘That’s right, Danny,’ I said. ‘Well done. We’re having ice cream and chocolate pudding. Let’s go to the table and have some now.’
Although Danny hadn’t acknowledged me when I’d mentioned dessert earlier in the car, he’d clearly taken it in and remembered what I’d said. His words had come out so quickly and on cue it was as though he’d had them ready at the forefront of his mind, for when they might be needed, whereas it seemed that if I said something new to him there was a delay before he responded, as though he needed time to process the information.
Leaving the Lego, Danny stood and we went into the kitchen-cum-dining-room where the children returned to the table and I went to the kitchen. I heated the chocolate pudding and spooned it into the dessert bowls, then added a generous helping of ice cream on top of each pudding. My children and I loved it served this way so that as the ice cream melted it created a delicious combination of taste and texture, hot and cold. I assumed Danny would like it too – all the other children we’d fostered had – but as the rest of us began eating Danny spent some time scraping the ice cream from the top of his pudding before he made a start. Then he ate the ice cream first, followed by the pudding.
‘Do you prefer your ice cream separate?’ I asked him.
He gave a small nod.
‘I’ll remember that for next time,’ I said. ‘If I forget you must tell me.’
It was only a small point but accommodating a child’s preferences, likes and dislikes helps them settle in and feel part of the family. Danny finished all his pudding and scraped his bowl clean. I was pleased he’d eaten a good meal. He was very slim and needed to put on some weight.
It was after seven o’clock now and I thought I should start Danny’s bedtime routine. He was only six years old and he’d had a very traumatic day. I was sure that once he’d slept in his room and enjoyed a good night’s sleep everything wouldn’t seem so strange to him and he’d start to feel better. I explained to him that it was time for bed and that I’d take him upstairs and help him get ready. He didn’t look at me as I spoke – his gaze was down – but he seemed to be concentrating and taking it all in. I asked him if he’d like a bedtime story before we went up, but he shook his head.
‘Would you like to see the other rooms in the house now?’ I asked. He’d only been in the living room and the kitchen-cum-diner.
Danny shook his head again, but then asked, ‘George?’
‘George is in bed,’ I said, hoping this was the right answer. ‘And you’ll see Mummy tomorrow at school,’ I added.
‘Daddy?’ he asked.
‘I expect Daddy’s at your house.’ I didn’t know if this was true, but it seemed a reasonable assumption given that Danny lived with both his parents and it was evening. Danny accepted this.
‘Would you like to say goodnight to Adrian, Paula and Lucy?’ I asked him. He looked away awkwardly and didn’t reply, so they said goodnight to him.
I offered Danny my hand to hold but he didn’t take it, so I led the way into the hall. As we passed the living room he looked in to check on the Lego. ‘We can leave the Lego as it is until tomorrow,’ I said.
He gave a small nod, and then came with me down the hall. Adrian had previously taken Danny’s holdall upstairs and placed it in his bedroom. As we passed the spot in the hall where the holdall had been Danny stopped and pointed.
‘Your bag is in your bedroom,’ I said.
Then he pointed to his coat, now hanging with ours on the coat stand. ‘Your coat is with ours ready for when we go out in the morning,’ I said.
He wasn’t reassured and began waving his arms agitatedly.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Your coat will be safe there.’
He flapped his arms more vigorously and then began rocking back and forth on his heels while making a low humming noise, clearly heading for another tantrum.
‘Enough, Danny,’ I said firmly. ‘I need to know what you want so I can help you.’
He started tugging at his coat, so I assumed he wanted it, but it was too high up for him to unhook.
‘OK. Stop,’ I said. ‘I’ll reach it down for you once you’re calmer,’ and I waited for him to relax. While giving him his coat wasn’t an issue – he could take it upstairs with him if it made him feel more secure – I didn’t want him to think that throwing a tantrum would get him what he wanted. He had some language skills and he needed to use them.
Gradually Danny grew still and became less agitated, so I took his coat from the stand and gave it to him. He didn’t put it on or clutch it protectively to his chest as he had done before; instead, he began reaching up to the coat stand again.
‘Do you want to hang it up yourself?’ I asked, having seen many toddlers do this.
Danny nodded.
‘Would you like me to lift you up so you can reach it?’
He nodded again.
He let me put my hands around his waist, and I lifted him up until he was high enough to hook his coat onto the stand. Then I set him on the floor again.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, without looking at me.
‘You’re welcome. It’s always best to try to tell me what you want, then I’ll know and can help you.’
I offered him my hand to hold to go upstairs but again he refused it, using the banister rail for support instead. Upstairs I showed him where the toilet was and asked him if he needed help. He shook his head, so I waited outside. I heard the toilet flush and then the taps run. He came out and I led the way to his bedroom.
‘This is your bedroom,’ I said. ‘I hope you like it. It will be better once you’ve got your things around you.’
Danny didn’t comment, nor did he look around the room, but he went to his holdall and unzipped it. At the top lay a soft-toy rabbit, which he picked up and held lovingly to his cheek.
‘George,’ he said with a small sigh, and for the first time since he’d arrived I saw him smile.
Chapter Four
Precise (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
I was upstairs for two hours helping Danny get ready for bed. He didn’t have a huge amount in his holdall – there was a couple of changes of clothes, pyjamas, a towel and wash bag – but Danny insisted on unpacking it all himself, and he was very precise. First he spent some time deciding which drawers to put his clothes in, then he spent a long time arranging them and rearranging them until, mindful of the time, I began chivvying him along. Once he was satisfied that his clothes were in the right drawer and positioned correctly he spent more time arranging his soft toy rabbit on the pillow, repositioning it in a number of different places.
‘It won’t ever be quite the same as at your house,’ I said, for clearly Danny couldn’t replicate exactly what he had at home.
But Danny continued until he was satisfied, and then finally changed into his pyjamas, neatly folding the clothes he’d taken off and placing them squarely at the foot of his bed, as I guessed he did at home. Eventually we went round the landing and into the bathroom. I showed him where everything was, and he spent some time arranging his towel and wash things beside ours. He was probably the most precise and self-sufficient six-year-old I’d ever come across, yet at the same time there was a vulnerability about him that was younger than his years.
‘You can have a bath tomorrow evening,’ I told him. ‘There isn’t time tonight. A good wash will be fine for now.’
Danny didn’t object and I placed the childstep in front of the hand basin so that he could comfortably reach into the bowl. He then spent some moments repositioning the step, squaring it, before he was satisfied and finally stood on it. I put the plug into the sink and turned on the taps. Danny turned them off, and then on again, wanting to do it himself.
‘The water is hot,’ I said, turning down the hot tap. ‘I need to help you with this.’ His face set; he didn’t like my interference, but he was six, and in some things he had to accept my help for his own safety. ‘Hot water can burn you,’ I told him.
He didn’t reply but stared blankly at the sink. I ran the water and checked the temperature. ‘That’s fine now,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to wash your face, or can you do it?’
There was pause before he picked up his flannel, folded it in half and half again, carefully submerged it in the water, squeezed it out and began washing his face. ‘Good boy,’ I said.
As Danny washed and dried his face and then cleaned his teeth, I saw there was something measured, almost ritualistic, in the way he performed the tasks. I guessed he carried them out exactly the same way every evening. In cleaning his teeth he carefully unscrewed the cap of his toothpaste, set the cap to one side, squirted a precise amount of paste onto his toothbrush, put down the brush, screwed the cap back on the paste and then began cleaning his teeth. Such exactness was very unusual for a child, and of course it was a slow process. I realized we would have to start the bedtime routine earlier in future. When Danny brushed his teeth the movement was so regular that it created a little rhythm as the brush went back and forth over his upper front teeth, then the left and right, and the same on his lower teeth. But he appeared content, as though he enjoyed the feel of it. I began to think he could continue indefinitely, so eventually I said, ‘You’ve done a good job, Danny. You can rinse out now.’
There was a pause before he did as I’d asked. Then he patted his mouth dry on his towel and returned it to the rail, where he spent some moments squaring it before he was satisfied. I wondered how much of his precise and ritualistic behaviour was because he was anxious and how much was just part of Danny. He was certainly an unusual little fellow, and I clearly had a lot to learn about him.
It was now nearly nine o’clock, and while I’d been upstairs Adrian, Lucy and Paula had come up and were in their rooms getting ready for bed. As Danny and I went round the landing I pointed out everyone’s bedrooms, but he didn’t want to look in.
‘If you need me in the night, call out and I’ll come to you,’ I said. ‘There is a night light on the landing, but I don’t want you wandering around by yourself. So call me if you need me.’ I told all the children this on their first night, although given Danny’s lack of language I doubted he would call me. I was a light sleeper, though, and usually woke if a child was out of bed. We continued into his bedroom. ‘Do you want your curtains open or closed?’ I asked him, as I asked all children when they first arrived.
Danny didn’t reply and looked bewildered. ‘They are closed now,’ I said. ‘Are they all right like that?’
He gave a small shake of the head and then went over to the curtains and parted them slightly.
I smiled. ‘Good boy. I’ll know what you want next time. Do you sleep with your light on or off?’ This was also important for helping a child settle.
Danny didn’t say anything but went to the light switch and dimmed it.
‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Is there anything else you need before you get into bed?’
He shook his head and climbed into bed, then snuggled down. He pulled the duvet right up over his head and drew the soft-toy rabbit beneath it.
‘Won’t you be too hot like that?’ I asked him.
There was no reply.
I tried easing the duvet down a little away from his face so he could breathe, but he pulled it up over his head again.
‘All right then, love. I’ll say goodnight.’ It was strange saying goodnight without being able to see his face. Often a child wanted a hug or a goodnight kiss, or, missing home, asked me to sit with them while they went off to sleep. Clearly Danny didn’t want any of these.
‘Night then, love,’ I said to the lump in the duvet that was Danny. Silence. ‘Do you want your door open or closed?’ I asked before I left.
There was no answer, so I left the door slightly ajar and came out. I’d check on him later. Yet as I went round the landing to Paula’s room I heard Danny get out of bed and quietly close his door. He had known what he wanted but hadn’t been able to tell me. Whether this was from poor language skills, shyness or some other reason I couldn’t say.
Once I’d checked that Paula, Lucy and Adrian were OK and getting ready for bed, I went downstairs. I would go up later when they were in bed to say goodnight. I was exhausted, but I knew I should write up my fostering notes before I went to bed while the events of the day were still fresh in my mind. All foster carers in England are asked to keep a daily log in respect of the child or children they are looking after. They record any significant events that have affected the child, the child’s wellbeing and general development, as well as any appointments the child may have. It is a confidential document, and when the child leaves the foster carer it is sent to the social services, where it is held on file.
I sat on the sofa in the living room with a mug of tea within reach and headed the sheet of A4 paper with the date. I then recorded objectively how I’d collected Danny from school and the details of how he was gradually settling in, ending with the time he went to bed and his routine. I placed the sheet in the folder I’d already begun for Danny, and which would eventually contain all the paperwork I had on him. I returned the folder to the lockable draw in the front room and went upstairs to say goodnight to Paula, Lucy and Adrian. Then I checked on Danny. He was still buried beneath the duvet and, concerned he would be too hot and breathing stale air, I crept to the bed and slowly moved the duvet clear of his face. He was in a deep sleep and didn’t stir. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his soft-toy rabbit lay on the pillow beside him. Danny looked like a little angel with his delicate features relaxed in sleep and his mop of light blond hair.
I checked on him again at 11.30 before I went to bed, and then when I woke at 2 a.m. Both times he was fast asleep, flat on his back, with his face above the duvet and soft-toy George beside him. I didn’t sleep well – I never do when a child first arrives. I subconsciously listen out for the child in case they are upset. But as far as I was aware Danny slept soundly, and he was still asleep when my alarm went off at 6 a.m. I checked on him before I showered and dressed, then again before I went downstairs to feed Toscha and make myself a coffee. At 7 a.m., after I’d woken Adrian, Lucy and Paula, I knocked on Danny’s door and went in. He was awake now, still lying on his back but with his arm around the soft toy and staring up at the ceiling.
‘Good morning, love,’ I said, going over to the bed. ‘You slept well. Did you remember where you were when you woke?’
His gaze flickered in my direction, but he didn’t make eye contact. Then he spoke, although it wasn’t to answer my question.
‘For breakfast I have cornflakes, with milk and half a teaspoon of sugar,’ he said.
I smiled. He had clearly prepared this speech, and I wondered at the effort that must have gone into finding the correct words and then keeping them ready for when they were needed.
‘That sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘I want you to wash and dress and then we’ll go down and have breakfast.’
I looked at his little face as he concentrated on what I’d said and tried to work out if a response was needed, and if so, what.
‘So the first thing you need to do is get out of bed,’ I said. I appreciated that Danny needed clear and precise instructions. There was a moment’s pause before Danny pushed back the duvet and got out of bed. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘The next thing you need to do is go to the toilet and then the bathroom so you can have a wash.’
Danny turned, not towards the bedroom door but to where his clothes were at the foot of the bed. He stared at them anxiously.
‘Do you usually put your clothes on first?’ I asked him.
He nodded.
‘That’s fine, but you’ll need clean clothes. I’ll wash those.’ I usually replaced the child’s clothes with fresh ones when they took them off at night, but I hadn’t had a chance the previous evening. I went to the chest of drawers where Danny had put his clean clothes and opened the drawer. Danny arrived beside me, wanting to take out what he needed himself.
‘I’ll put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket,’ I said.
He shook his head and, setting down his clean clothes, picked up the dirty ones, again clearly wanting to do it himself. ‘OK. I’ll show you where to put your laundry,’ I said. But Danny went ahead. I followed him round the landing and then waited just outside the bathroom while he put his clothes into the laundry basket. He’d obviously remembered seeing it the night before.
‘Good boy,’ I said.
He used the toilet and then we returned to his bedroom. I was on hand to help if necessary. Before he began dressing Danny laid out his clothes on the bed in the order in which they would go on. His vest at the top, beneath that his school shirt, then his jumper, pants, trousers and socks. I wondered if this was a system he’d thought of to help him dress or if it had been devised by his parents. Special needs children often struggle with sequencing tasks like this that appear simple to the rest of us; they can easily put their vest on over the top of their shirt, for example. Danny’s system worked. Slowly but surely he dressed himself and didn’t need my help.
‘Well done,’ I said as he finished.
He didn’t reply but now concentrated on folding his pyjamas – precisely in half and half again – and then tucked them neatly under his pillow. He carefully positioned his soft toy, George, on his pillow and then drew up the duvet so just the little rabbit’s face peeped out. After that he spent some moments readjusting the duvet until I said, ‘Time to go downstairs for breakfast now.’
He finally stopped fiddling with the duvet and came with me. At the top of the stairs I offered him my hand, and for a second I thought he was going to take it, but then he took hold of the handrail instead. Because Danny was quite small he navigated the steps one at a time, as a much younger child would. He then came with me into the kitchen-cum-diner and went straight to his place at the table.
‘Good boy,’ I said again.
Adrian came down and took his place at the table. ‘Hi, Danny,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
Danny didn’t answer but did look in Adrian’s direction.
‘Toast and tea?’ I asked Adrian, which was what he normally had for breakfast during the week.
‘Yes please, Mum.’
In the kitchen I dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, poured Danny’s cornflakes into a bowl, added milk and sugar and then placed the bowl on the table in front of him. He picked up his spoon and began eating, clearly used to eating cornflakes. ‘What would you like to drink with your breakfast?’ I asked Danny.
There was silence. His spoon hovered over his bowl and he concentrated hard before he said, ‘I have a glass of milk with my breakfast.’
I poured the milk, gave it to Danny and then joined him and Adrian at the table. The girls came down and said hello to Danny, then poured themselves cereal and a drink. As we ate, Lucy and Paula tried to make conversation with Danny, asking him what he liked best at school and what his favourite television programmes were. He didn’t answer, and I could see he was growing increasingly anxious at their questions, although of course they were only trying to be friendly and make him feel welcome. Danny appeared to be a child who needed to concentrate on one task at a time, and he finally stopped eating.
‘I think Danny is finding our talk a bit much first thing in the morning,’ I said as diplomatically as I could.
‘I know the feeling,’ Adrian added dryly.
‘Watch it,’ Lucy said jokingly, poking him in the ribs.
But the girls understood what I meant and not usually being great conversationalists themselves first thing in the morning, they left Danny to eat. Once I knew more about Danny’s difficulties I’d be better equipped to explain them to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, and also to deal with them myself. At present I was relying on common sense and my experience as a foster carer.
As the children finished eating they left the table one at a time to go upstairs and carry on getting ready for school. I waited with Danny while he emptied his bowl of cornflakes and then drank his glass of milk.
‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now it’s time for you to go upstairs so you can wash and brush your teeth.’
‘George?’ he asked questioningly, glancing towards the back door.
‘Do you feed George in the morning?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘Your mummy will feed George today,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to her about George when I see her this morning at school.’
He accepted this, slid from his chair and then followed me down the hall and upstairs. In the bathroom he completed the tasks of washing and brushing his teeth in the same order and with the same precision as he had the previous evening.
Adrian, Lucy and Paula left for their respective secondary schools, calling goodbye as they went. Then, once Danny had finished in the bathroom, we went downstairs, where I told him we needed to put on our shoes and coats ready to go to school. I went to unhook his coat from the stand, but he put his hand on my arm to stop me. ‘Of course,’ I said, smiling. ‘You want to do it yourself.’
I lifted him up and he unhooked his coat, then struggled into it, finally accepting my help to engage the zipper. He sat on the floor to put on his shoes, and when he’d finished I praised him. He put so much effort into everything he did, it was important he knew when he’d done well. He didn’t have a school bag; I assumed it had been left at school.
‘We’re going outside, so hold my hand, please,’ I said as I opened the front door.
He did as I asked and we went to my car on the driveway. I opened the rear door and Danny clambered into the child seat and then fastened his own seatbelt. I checked it was secure, closed his door and went round and climbed into the driver’s seat. As I drove I reminded Danny what was going to happen that day (as far as I knew); that we were going to school where he would see his mother, and I was going into a meeting. Then at the end of the day I would collect him from school and bring him home with me. I didn’t mention that Jill was visiting us at 4 p.m., as I thought it might overload him with information; I’d tell him after school. He didn’t reply, but I knew he was taking it all in – his gaze was fixed and serious as he concentrated.
Although I was slightly anxious about meeting his mother for the first time, I was also looking forward to it. I would learn more about Danny, and hopefully I’d be able to work with his parents with the aim of eventually returning Danny home. Having looked after Danny for only one night, I appreciated how his parents might have struggled. Caring for Danny was hard work, and I’d had plenty of experience looking after children – many with special needs. Some parents are very angry when their child or children first go into care, although given that Danny had been placed in care voluntarily I didn’t think that was likely. I thought his parents would probably be upset rather than angry, and I was right – although I was completely unprepared for just how upset Danny’s mother would be.
Chapter Five
Absolute Hell (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
The school building and surrounding trees and shrubbery seemed a lot more welcoming now it was light than it had the evening before in darkness. Some parents were already in the playground chatting to each other while their children played before the start of lessons. I was planning on going straight into school with Danny that morning as the meeting started at nine o’clock, but as we entered the playground I heard Danny’s name being called. I turned and saw a woman rushing towards us in tears. I guessed it was Danny’s mother, Reva. She scooped him up and, holding him to her, buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed.
‘Shall we go inside?’ I suggested, touching her arm reassuringly. ‘It’ll be more private.’ I could see others in the playground looking and I felt Danny’s reunion with his mother – and her grief – needed some privacy.
‘Yes, please,’ Reva said quietly.
She carried Danny and we walked towards the main door. As we approached, it opened from inside and Sue Bright, Danny’s teacher, came out. ‘I’ve been looking out for you,’ she said. ‘Come in. We can use the medical room, it’s free.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
We followed Sue down a short corridor, turned left and entered the medical room, which was equipped with a couch, three chairs, a sink and a first-aid cupboard. Danny’s mother sat on one of the chairs and held Danny on her lap, close to her. ‘He must have missed me so much,’ she said through her tears. ‘He never normally lets me touch him.’
Danny said one word in a flat and emotionless voice: ‘Mum.’
‘Would you like some time alone?’ Sue asked Reva.
‘Yes, please,’ she said.
‘We’ll come back in a few minutes when school starts,’ Sue added.
I left the medical room with Sue and she closed the door behind us. ‘Has he been very upset?’ she asked me, concerned.
‘More quiet and withdrawn, really,’ I said. ‘But he slept well, and has been eating.’
Sue nodded. ‘Danny is often withdrawn in school; that’s one of his problems.’
‘Has there been an assessment?’ I asked.
‘Not yet.’ She paused. ‘Would you mind waiting until the meeting to talk about this? It’s complicated and I need to see to my class soon.’
‘That’s fine, of course,’ I said.
‘Thanks. His social worker, Terri, is on her way. She’ll be about five minutes. Once school starts Danny can join his class, and then we can have our meeting. We’ll use the staff room. It’ll be empty once school begins. We’re only a small school and a bit short of space. Are you all right to wait here while I bring my class in from the playground?’
‘Yes, go ahead.’
‘I’ll be about ten minutes.’
Sue disappeared around the corner and I waited in the small corridor outside the medical room. While I waited I looked at the children’s art work that adorned most of every wall. Although it was only a small school it came across as being very friendly and child-centred. Danny’s teacher, Sue, seemed really kind and caring, as had the other staff I’d briefly met the evening before. My thoughts went to Danny’s mother, Reva, who unlike Danny was quite tall, but also slender. She was in her late thirties and was dressed smartly in a grey skirt and matching jacket. I felt sorry for her. She was so upset; she and her husband must have had a sleepless night, counting the hours until they could see Danny again. Her husband wasn’t with her, but Terri had said there was going to be regular contact, so he would see Danny before too long.
A whistle sounded in the playground signalling the start of school, and presently I heard the clamour of children’s voices as they filed into the building and went to their classrooms. Then Sam, the caretaker I’d briefly met the evening before, appeared at the end of the corridor. ‘How’s the little fellow doing?’ he asked cheerfully.
‘He’s doing all right,’ I smiled.
‘Good for you. You foster carers do a fantastic job. I know – I was brought up in care.’ And with a nod and a smile he went off to go about his duties. That was a nice comment, I thought.
Five minutes later the school was quiet as the first lesson began. Sue appeared with Terri and we said good morning. ‘How’s Danny been?’ Terri asked.
‘Quiet,’ I said. ‘But he ate and slept well, and we only had one tantrum.’
‘Good. Have you met his mother, Reva?’
‘Just briefly in the playground. She’s very upset.’
Terri nodded. ‘Shall we get started then? I have to be away by ten-thirty as I have another meeting at eleven.’
Sue knocked on the door to the medical room and she and Terri went in, while I waited at the door. I could see Danny was now sitting on a chair beside his mother. They both had their hands in their laps, and were quiet and still.
‘Danny, I’ll take you to your class now,’ Sue said gently.
Danny obediently stood.
‘Say goodbye to your mother,’ Sue said.
‘Goodbye,’ Danny said in a small, flat voice and without looking at her.
‘Goodbye, love,’ she called after him. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Danny didn’t reply or show any emotion but walked quietly away with his teacher.
‘Will you show Reva and Cathy to the staff room?’ Sue said to Terri. ‘I’ll join you there once I’ve taken Danny to his class.’
‘Bye, love,’ Danny’s mother called again as he left, but Danny didn’t reply.
‘How are you?’ Terri now asked Reva as she stood, looping her handbag over her shoulder.
She shrugged and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
‘You’ve met Cathy,’ Terri said to her.
She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes.
‘Hello, Reva,’ I said with a smile.
I could see the family resemblance between her and Danny – the same mouth and eyes.
‘I did my best for him,’ she said as we left the medical room. ‘Really I did, but I’ve failed.’ Her tears fell.
‘You haven’t failed,’ I said. ‘Danny is a lovely boy, but I can appreciate just how much it takes to look after him.’
‘You don’t blame me then?’ she said, slightly surprised.
‘No, of course not.’
‘No one blames you,’ Terri added. ‘I’ve told you that.’
‘My husband does,’ Reva said.
‘For what?’ Terri asked.
‘Having an autistic son.’
Reva and I went with Terri to the staff room where we settled around the small table that sat at one end of the room and waited for Sue. The staff room was compact, with pigeonhole shelving overflowing with books and papers, and pin boards on the walls covered with notices, leaflets and flyers. On a cabinet stood a kettle beside a tray containing mugs and a jar of coffee. But like the rest of the school the staff room emanated a cosy, warm feeling, easily making up for what it lacked in size. Reva, sitting opposite me, had dried her eyes now, but I could see she wasn’t far from tears. Terri, to her right, had taken out a notepad and was writing. I felt I needed to say something positive to Reva to try to reassure her.
‘Danny did very well last night,’ I said. ‘Our house was obviously all new to him, but he coped well. He ate dinner with us and then played with some Lego.’
‘Terri said it took ages to find him on the playing field,’ Reva said despondently. ‘Danny’s good at running off and hiding. You’ll need to be careful.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ I said. Although I’d rather guessed that might be the case.
‘You’ll have to lock all your doors and windows or he’ll run off outside and you’ll never find him,’ Reva said.
‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured her. ‘My house is secure. He’ll be safe.’ Foster carers are not allowed to lock children in the house even for their own safety, but I knew that Danny couldn’t reach to open the front and back doors, and I would be keeping a close eye on him. ‘I like his method of dressing,’ I said to Reva, again focusing on the positive. ‘Did you and your husband teach him to do that?’
‘I did,’ Reva said softly.
Terri looked at us questioningly and I explained how Danny had laid out his clothes in the order he should put them on.
‘Very good,’ Terri said. ‘Does that work for him at school too – after games?’ she asked.
‘I think his classroom assistant helps him,’ Reva said.
The door opened and Sue came in carrying a file. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said. ‘Danny is with his class now.’ She smiled at Reva as she sat next to me.
‘Are we expecting anyone else?’ Terri asked.
‘My support social worker can’t make it,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing her later so I’ll update her then.’
‘Is Danny’s father joining us?’ Terri now asked Reva.
‘No,’ she said, but she didn’t add why.
‘Let’s get started then,’ Terri said. ‘I thought this meeting would give us a chance to discuss how we can best help Danny. The three of us and his father are the key people in Danny’s life right now. I’ll make a few notes as we go, but I want to keep this meeting informal. I’m in the process of drawing up a care plan, and as a child in care Danny will have regular reviews.’ She glanced at Reva. ‘We’ll talk about contact arrangements later. Cathy, as Reva didn’t have a chance to meet you before Danny came to you, perhaps you’d like to start by telling her a little about your family and home life?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ I said. I sat slightly forward and looked at Reva as I spoke. ‘I have three children – a boy, fifteen, and two girls, thirteen and eleven, and a cat, Toscha. She doesn’t bite or scratch. I’m divorced and have been fostering for over fifteen years now. I live in …’ I briefly described my house and then my family’s routine, and the types of things we liked to do at the weekends. ‘Danny will, of course, be included in all family activities and outings,’ I said. ‘Whether it’s a visit to a local park or to see my parents. Danny’s bedroom is at the rear of the house and overlooks the garden, so it is quiet and has a nice view. He’ll be able to play in the garden when the weather is good. Last night before Danny went to bed I showed him where my bedroom was in case he needed me in the night, but he slept through. It was a good idea packing his toy rabbit, George,’ I concluded positively, smiling at Reva. ‘That helped him to settle.’
‘Did he ask for the real George?’ Reva asked.
‘Yes. I had to show him he wasn’t outside.’
Terri looked at us, puzzled.
‘George is Danny’s pet rabbit,’ Reva said to Terri. ‘They’re inseparable. I did tell Danny he couldn’t take him to Cathy’s. I think that was one of the reasons he kicked me and ran off and hid yesterday.’
I looked at Terri. ‘I know it’s not usual fostering practice,’ I said, ‘but I was thinking that if Reva and her husband agreed then perhaps George could come and stay with us too? He means so much to Danny. It could help him settle.’
‘Oh, would you?’ Reva cried. ‘I’d be so grateful. Danny loves his rabbit more than anything – probably more than he loves me.’
‘Are you sure that’s all right?’ Terri asked me.
‘Yes. I don’t mind pets, and George lives in his hutch outside.’
‘Danny likes to bring him into the house sometimes,’ Reva said. ‘But he doesn’t make much mess.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ I said.
‘If it doesn’t work out you can always return it to Reva,’ Terri said.
I met Reva’s gaze and we both knew that wasn’t an option. It would be devastating for a child like Danny to be allowed to have his beloved pet stay and then have to return him home while he remained in care. He wouldn’t cope.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I said again.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Terri said. ‘I’ll leave the two of you to make arrangements at the end of this meeting to collect George.’
‘Thank you,’ Reva said to me.
I thought the meeting had got off to a good start and that George was now one less thing for Reva to worry about, but then her face clouded and she began to cry.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking a fresh tissue from her handbag. ‘You’re all being so nice to me and trying to help. I really don’t deserve it.’
‘Of course you deserve it,’ Terri said. ‘We all want to help you and Danny. You must stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault Danny is as he is.’ Then to Sue, Terri said, ‘Would you like to tell us a bit about how Danny is doing in school? I expect Cathy will want to help him with his homework.’
‘We don’t actually set Danny homework as such,’ she said. ‘More targets to work towards, in line with his individual education plan. Reva has a copy of the plan and I can have one printed for Cathy, if that’s all right with Reva?’
Reva nodded.
Sue made a note of this and then said, ‘Danny has been in this school a year. He arrived after his parents moved into the area with his father’s job. At present Danny is working towards a reception-level standard. He is difficult to assess educationally because of his communication difficulties, but he is about two to three years behind his peer group. He tries his best but finds the core subjects of English, maths and science very challenging, although I adapt all the work to suit his needs. He does like art, especially drawing, painting and creating patterns. He’s very good at making patterns. Danny has communication and language difficulties – both receptive and expressive – so we have to pace his learning to fit him. His teaching assistant, Yvonne, is good with him and has endless patience. Danny is uncoordinated and finds games lessons difficult, but he likes a good run around the playing field.’
‘Yes, I noticed that last night,’ Terri said dryly.
I smiled.
‘Tell them about his meltdowns,’ Reva now said.
Sue looked at me. ‘Danny can become frustrated when he is unable to express himself or there is too much going on for him, and he has a “meltdown”. Yvonne and I have become adept at spotting the warning signs and can sometimes distract him to avoid it, but not always. He’ll lie on the floor, scream and shout and lash out at anyone who goes near him. It’s very upsetting for him, and for us to witness.’
‘He does it at home as well,’ Reva said. ‘And in public, in the street and in shops. Everyone stares. I know they blame me for not controlling him properly, but I don’t know what to do.’ She was close to tears again.
‘As an experienced and specialist foster carer you’ll be able to cope with Danny’s behaviour, won’t you?’ Terri said to me.
‘Yes,’ I said confidently, although I was feeling far from confident inside.
‘Danny finds it difficult to make friends,’ Sue continued. ‘The children in the class are very tolerant of him and kind, but he doesn’t have a proper friend. He doesn’t understand how to make friends, although Yvonne has tried to show him. In the playground he keeps close to her or one of the other assistants. He can easily become overwhelmed by all the noise and activity, so we often bring him in early. He eats his lunch with the other children in the dining hall, but he takes a long time and is usually the last to finish.’ My heart clenched as I imagined little Danny sitting all alone in a big dining room while the other children were outside playing. ‘Yvonne or one of the other assistants stays with him until he’s finished,’ Sue said. ‘There are a lot of unknowns with Danny and at times he’s very difficult to reach. The school would like the educational psychologist to assess him so that we’re all in a better position to help him meet his full potential. But we need the parents’ permission for that assessment.’
Which begged the question: why hadn’t his parents given permission?
Terri turned to Reva. ‘Is your husband still not happy with Danny being assessed?’
‘He won’t,’ Reva said. ‘He is ashamed. He refuses to admit anything is wrong with Danny.’
‘I’ll have a chat with him and explain why it’s important Danny is assessed,’ Terri said, making a note. Then looking at Sue she said, ‘Is that everything for now?’
‘I think so.’
‘Thank you,’ Terri said. Then she turned to Reva: ‘Would you like to say a bit about Danny? Perhaps tell Cathy about his likes and dislikes, and his routine. Anything you think may help her look after Danny.’
‘Yes,’ Reva said. ‘I’ve made a few notes.’ She unhooked her shoulder bag from the back of her chair and, opening it, slid out a thick wodge of papers. ‘This is Danny’s daily routine,’ she said, passing it across the table to me. ‘It never alters.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, taking it. I began flipping through. Usually a parent will say a few words about their child’s routine, very occasionally they’ll give me some notes, but never in all my years of fostering had I seen anything this detailed before: twenty-three pages of A4 paper covered in small print.
‘Perhaps you could read it later,’ Terri said, aware of the volume of paperwork.
I nodded and smiled at Reva. ‘Thank you. This will be helpful.’
‘Is there anything you want to add to what you’ve written?’ Terri asked Reva.
I assumed there wouldn’t be, given the detail in the paperwork, but Reva said, ‘Yes. That’s just Danny’s routine. Cathy also needs to know what it’s like looking after Danny. I mean, what it’s really like.’ She paused, and I saw her bottom lip tremble. ‘It’s been hell,’ she said. ‘Absolute hell. It’s a nightmare looking after Danny. I know it’s my fault, and some days I wish he’d never been born.’ Her face crumpled into tears.
Chapter Six
Prisoners (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
My heart went out to Reva. She was clearly carrying a huge burden of guilt and self-blame for Danny’s problems, and appeared to be at her wits’ end, and close to breaking point. Terri, Sue and I tried to reassure her, but her feelings of inadequacy were too deeply ingrained, and I wondered how much of this was a result of her husband’s attitude. Reva’s previous comment about him blaming her for having an autistic son weighed heavily in my thoughts. The last thing the poor woman needed was to be blamed by her partner; she needed all the help and support she could get.
Presently Reva dried her eyes and was composed enough to continue. ‘Danny cried a lot as a baby. I thought all babies cried, but my husband, Richard, said his other two children hadn’t cried as much as Danny did. He was married before. Danny’s my only child, so I had nothing to compare him to. But I became exhausted – up most of the night, every night. Danny didn’t seem to need much sleep. I read all the books I could find on parenting. I felt I must be doing something wrong, and if I’m honest Danny’s crying scared me. It seemed as if he wanted something and I should be able to work out what it was. He was out of control when he screamed, even as a baby, and there was nothing I could do to help him.’
‘Didn’t you have anyone you could talk to?’ Terri asked.
‘Not really. I discussed it with my mother when we spoke on the phone, but she said babies often cried for no reason. She lives over a hundred miles from us, so we don’t see her very often. She’s not a hands-on grandmother. Richard’s job was very demanding – it still is – and I’d given up work to look after Danny, so I got up in the night and did most of the parenting. I do now. I tried to keep Danny quiet, because if Richard went to work tired he couldn’t function. I couldn’t function either. I asked the health visitor about Danny’s crying and she said it was nothing to worry about, that it was probably a bit of colic. The gripe water she recommended didn’t help, and Danny kept crying for large parts of every day and most nights until he was eighteen months old. Then it suddenly stopped and he became very quiet and withdrawn. He had some language by then and was starting to put words together into little sentences – you know the sort of thing: “Daddy go work”, “Danny want biscuit”, “Mummy cooking.” But he suddenly stopped talking and would point to what he wanted and make a noise instead. I tried to encourage him to use words, but he would stare through me as though he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.’
‘Had anything traumatic happened to Danny at that time?’ Terri asked.
‘I’ve wondered that, but I can’t think of anything,’ Reva said. ‘Danny was with me all day and night. I would have known if something had happened. There was nothing.’
Terri nodded. ‘OK. I just wondered.’
‘Although Danny had stopped talking,’ Reva continued, ‘and was very quiet for long periods and all night, he’d started having tantrums. He would throw himself on the floor, screaming, and bang his head on the ground, the wall, a cupboard – any hard object within reach. It was frightening, and when I tried to pick him up he’d lash out, kick and punch me, pull my hair and bite and claw me as though I was attacking him and he had to fight me off. My beautiful baby boy. I was devastated. He’s stopped the clawing, but he still does the other things when he’s frustrated and upset.’ Reva paused.
‘At school we do all we can to encourage Danny to use language to express himself – if he wants something or is upset,’ Sue said.
‘So do I,’ Reva said a little brusquely. ‘But it’s different at school. There are other children here and Danny has respect for you. At home it’s just him and me, and he doesn’t have respect for me. He does what he wants, and if he won’t talk to me there is nothing I can do about it.’
‘Does he talk to your husband?’ Terri asked.
‘Sometimes, a little. But he only sees him for a few minutes in the evening, and at the weekends, when Richard’s not playing golf. Danny doesn’t talk like other children his age do. He doesn’t have a conversation; he repeats what you say or nods or comes out with half-sentences and words that don’t make any sense. Then he gets frustrated because you don’t understand what he wants, and that leads to a tantrum. Yet he can talk to George or himself. Danny would rather talk to himself or his rabbit than to me.’
‘Does Danny smile or laugh or show his feelings?’ Terri asked.
‘Not often. His expression is usually blank. Sometimes he’ll suddenly laugh but it’s not at the right time or in the right context, if you know what I mean. He can laugh loudly – cackle – for no obvious reason. He does it in public. It’s so embarrassing. It’s impossible to know if Danny is happy or not, and he doesn’t show physical affection normally. He’ll let you touch him sometimes, but only on his terms. He let me hold him in the playground just now and carry him into school, but I can’t remember the last time he let me cuddle him. It’s as though he doesn’t want or need anyone else. Not even his mother.’
‘I’m sure he does need you,’ I said. ‘But he has difficulty showing it.’
Terri and Sue nodded in agreement.
‘But other children kiss and hug their mothers,’ Reva blurted, her eyes filling again. ‘I’ve seen them in the playground kissing and hugging their parents goodbye when it’s time to go into school. Danny just turns and walks away with his classroom assistant. She has to tell him to say goodbye to me. He shouldn’t need telling. Other children don’t, but Danny seems to have no empathy or feelings. If I cry in front of him, he just looks at me.’ Reva was in tears again.
‘I’m sure Danny does feel things,’ Terri said seriously, looking at Reva, ‘just as you and I do, but the difference is Danny can’t express them. It’s a trait of autism, if that is what Danny has.’
‘And he does love you, just as other children love their parents,’ I added, trying to console Reva.
‘How can you be so sure?’ she demanded, taking another tissue from her bag. ‘You’ve only just met Danny. Wait until you know him better, you’ll see. He’ll be as cold to you as he is to me.’
I didn’t reply. Reva was very upset and didn’t mean to be rude.
‘Sorry,’ she said after a moment.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I can appreciate how upsetting Danny’s behaviour is for you.’
‘Have you fostered anyone like him before?’ Reva now asked, wiping her eyes.
‘No two children are the same,’ I said. ‘But I have seen some of Danny’s behaviour in other children.’
‘Do you think he is autistic?’ she asked me.
‘I don’t know. And it would be wrong for me to guess.’
‘The education psychologist is the person who should make the diagnosis,’ Terri put in. ‘I’ll speak to your husband about it.’ I saw Terri glance at her watch. She had to leave in fifteen minutes to go to her other meeting. ‘We still need to talk about contact,’ she said. ‘But before we do, are there any strategies you’ve found particularly helpful in managing Danny’s behaviour that you would like to pass on to Cathy?’
Reva shrugged. ‘Not really. I just do what Danny wants to keep the peace, but that doesn’t always work either.’
It won’t, I thought but didn’t say. Boundaries for good behaviour are essential for all children; as well as socializing the child they show them that the parent cares, whatever syndrome or condition the child may have. I knew Reva had developed some strategies for managing Danny’s behaviour, although she probably didn’t realize it.
‘You taught Danny how to put on his clothes in the correct order,’ I now said to her. ‘That’s important. Without it Danny would become frustrated, which could lead to a tantrum. So that’s a useful strategy.’
Reva looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t really thought of it that way.’
‘And you’ve taught Danny a workable bedtime routine that includes him washing his face, brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed,’ I said. ‘These are all strategies that help him to cope with daily tasks that are simple to us but not to Danny. You taught him all of that.’
A faint smile crossed Reva’s face. ‘Have you noticed how methodical Danny is?’ she said. ‘He loves doing things in order. Patterns and order are his lifeline. Mealtimes used to be a nightmare, but then we discovered that as long as he can eat his food in order of colour he’s fine. He always starts by eating the palest food first and then the darker. It takes him a while, but it works.’
I now realized that that was what Danny must have been doing at dinner the evening before when he’d arranged the components of the casserole around the edge of his plate. He’d eaten them a pile at a time, the lightest first: chicken, potatoes, carrots and then peas.
‘So you’ve created quite a few strategies to help him without realizing it,’ Terri said.
‘I suppose I have,’ Reva said, and her eyes filled again. But this time her emotion wasn’t from despair; it was the realization that she had been doing some things right after all. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking at me.
‘There’s no need to thank me. You’re the one who’s been helping Danny to cope all these years.’
And her look of gratitude made my own eyes fill.
‘Well done, Reva,’ Terri said, and Sue smiled. ‘Now to contact,’ Terri said. I took my diary and pen from my handbag and opened it on the table in front of me. ‘You and your husband obviously want to see Danny regularly,’ Terri said to Reva. ‘So I suggest we set contact at two evenings a week, and one day at the weekend. The care plan is for Danny to return home as soon as possible, so we need to keep the bond between you strong. We can review the contact arrangements as we go and adjust them up once Danny is more settled.’
Reva nodded.
‘I suggest Tuesday and Thursday evening after school, starting tomorrow,’ Terri said. ‘Reva, if you collect Danny from school on those nights and take him home and give him dinner, then return him to Cathy’s at about six o’clock, then he’ll have a little while to settle before he has to go to bed.’
‘And time to feed George,’ I put in, aware this was going to be part of Danny’s evening routine.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Reva agreed.
‘Good,’ Terri said, making a note. I also wrote the arrangements in my diary. ‘I was going to suggest telephone contact on the nights Danny doesn’t see you,’ Terri said. ‘But I’m not sure Danny would cope with it.’
‘No, he doesn’t use the telephone,’ Reva said. ‘It frightens him.’
‘OK, so no telephone contact,’ Terri confirmed as she wrote. ‘Which day of the weekend would suit you and your husband best?’ she now asked Reva. ‘When does Richard play golf?’
‘Sunday mainly.’
‘So we’ll make the weekend contact on Saturday. Cathy will bring Danny to you and you can return him.’
I wrote this in my diary.
‘As routine is so important to Danny,’ Terri said, ‘it’s essential we all keep to the contact agreements.’
Even for a child in care under a Section 20, where the parents retain full legal responsibility for the child, it is important to adhere to the timetable of contact, otherwise the child can become very unsettled (for example, if the parents keep changing contact arrangements, or suddenly turn up at the foster carer’s home wanting to see the child or take them out).
‘Is it for the whole day on Saturday?’ Reva asked, concerned.
‘Yes,’ Terri said. ‘I’m thinking ten o’clock till six. Why? Is there a problem?’
‘I hope I can cope,’ Reva said, her brow creasing.
‘Your husband can help you with Danny,’ Terri said, looking at her seriously.
‘Yes,’ Reva said uncertainly.
‘If you feel you are not coping then telephone Cathy and she’ll come and collect Danny, or you can return him early.’
Reva gave a small, unconvincing nod, and I thought that many of Reva’s problems in coping with Danny seemed to come from her lack of self-confidence in her ability to meet his needs.
‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ Terri said. ‘Now, if there is nothing else, I need to be going. I’ll leave the two of you to make the arrangements to collect George.’ She glanced around the table, but no one had anything to add so she put away her notebook and pen. ‘I’ll need to visit you both,’ she said to Reva and me as she stood. ‘I’ll phone to arrange the appointments. Reva, can you ask Richard when he is available. I need him to be present when I see you.’
‘Yes,’ Reva said in a small voice. ‘He’s very busy, though.’
‘So am I,’ Terri said. I could understand why she sounded terse. Danny’s home life had deteriorated to the point where he’d had to come into care, so surely his father should be doing everything in his power to get him home again as soon as possible, including making time for the social worker.
‘Can I see Danny to say goodbye before I go?’ Reva now asked Terri.
‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ Terri said, and looked at Sue.
‘Come down to the classroom when you’ve finished talking to Cathy,’ Sue said. ‘Yvonne will bring Danny out to you.’
‘Thank you,’ Reva said. ‘I won’t keep him long.’
Sue smiled, then she and Terri said goodbye to us and left the staff room.
I looked across the table at Reva. She seemed marginally more relaxed now there was just the two of us. ‘Do you want to bring George to my house or shall I collect him?’ I asked her.
‘Can you collect him, please?’ she said. ‘I didn’t like to say it in front of Terri but my car is a sports car and the hutch won’t fit in the boot.’
‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll come to you. My car is a hatchback, so I’m sure George and his hutch will fit in the back.’
‘Thank you. Do you have my address?’
‘Not yet. Jill, my support social worker, is bringing the placement forms this evening.’
Reva reached into her shoulder bag and took out a business card, which she passed to me. I read the smart black embossed lettering. Below her name was printed ‘Corporate Hospitality’ and then her contact details.
‘I had some notion I would work freelance after I had Danny,’ she said with a small, dismissive laugh. ‘So I had the cards printed. But it’s been impossible. I still have most of the cards.’
‘Were you in the corporate hospitality business before?’ I asked, making conversation.
‘Yes, that’s where I met Richard. He was one of my clients. I was good at my job. Far better than I am at being a mother. I should have known when I was well off.’
‘You’re doing fine,’ I said encouragingly. ‘You’ve got very tired and weighed down by all of Danny’s needs. I’ve only had Danny for one night, but already I can see how much attention and patience he requires. Once you’ve had a break and time to recharge your batteries I’m sure you’ll feel better and see things differently.’
‘I hope so,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m in such a dark place right now. I’m no good to anyone – not Richard or Danny.’
‘Give yourself time,’ I said again.
‘I’ll try. Thank you, and thanks for having George. What time do you want to come to collect him tomorrow?’
‘Shall we say about eleven?’
‘That’s fine. I’m in most days. I’ve little reason to go out. I’ll give you some of Danny’s toys and more of his clothes. I wasn’t thinking straight yesterday. Have you got enough for now?’
‘Yes. Plenty.’
‘I’ll go and see Danny now then. It’ll be strange not having to come to school to collect him this afternoon.’
‘Try not to worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll take good care of him.’
‘I know you will, and you’ll do a better job of it than me.’
There was little more I could say right now to help Reva, for, as she’d admitted, she was in a ‘dark place’ and felt a failure as a mother, wife and, I suspected, as a person too. I assumed Terri would have advised Reva to see a doctor if she felt she needed help with depression. It wasn’t for me to suggest it to her. We stood and left the staff room. At the end of the corridor we said goodbye to each other, and Reva went to Danny’s classroom while I went towards reception and then out of the school.
Once home I made a cup of coffee and took it to the table, together with Reva’s notes. I began reading as I sipped my coffee. There was so much detail. Too much detail. I flicked through. Every minute of every day was accounted for, with lengthy, painstaking instructions on what to do and what not to do in every situation. Mealtimes included how to position Danny’s cutlery the way he liked it to avoid a tantrum, and the morning routine included what to say to Danny when I woke him, and then again at night when he went to bed. Reva had written how I should greet him at the end of the school day, and that I shouldn’t ask what he’d done at school as he didn’t like that and could become angry. I should say, ‘We’re going home in the car, Danny,’ but then I had to remain silent as we walked to the car, because he didn’t like to be talked to. I had to let him open the car door himself, and I wasn’t to help him climb in, or touch his seatbelt, as it annoyed him. Reva had also noted that it took Danny a long time to fasten his seatbelt due to his lack of coordination, and consequently she always made sure she parked her car with the passenger door on the pavement side so she didn’t have to stand in the road while she waited for him to fasten it. And so it continued, page after page …
While some of what Reva had written would be helpful – for example, Danny’s bath-time routine, the toys he enjoyed playing with and the television programme that most engaged him – much of it was too regimented to be of use in my household. My family was very different to Reva’s, and I couldn’t expect my children to change their lives to revolve around Danny’s routine. I also felt that so much regimentation was stifling. To have every minute of every hour accounted for meant there was no room for creativity or impulsive or impromptu actions. Yet I could see why Reva had run their lives like this. There’s a feeling of safety in the familiar and predictable. She was in a fragile state and had desperately clung to what she knew worked as a coping mechanism. The downside was that she and Danny were hostages to his behaviour – prisoners locked in their routine.
Chapter Seven
Crisis Averted (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
Before children were diagnosed with conditions such as autism, Asperger’s, bipolar disorder, special needs, development delay, specific learning difficulties or many of the other syndromes we can now identify, they were referred to as backward, retarded or mentally defective. These are terms we wouldn’t use now. They’re considered derogatory. Yet in our ignorance was a certain freedom for the child and those involved with him or her. Without the diagnosis (or label) we have today, the child’s parents, extended family, community and teachers acknowledged there was something ‘wrong’ with the child and then accommodated and modified their behaviour. True, some of these children ended up in institutions, but the majority remained with their families, where allowances for their different, unusual and sometimes bizarre behaviour were made by those who came into contact with them. I had an older cousin – he’s dead now – who today would probably have been diagnosed with an autistic-spectrum disorder and learning difficulties. But back then he was just Pete. He lived all his life with his mother – my aunt – and worked a few mornings a week sticking down envelopes. He never spoke much, made some very odd noises and often appeared to be in a world of his own. He seemed happy enough, though, and laughed – sometimes at the most inappropriate moments (once at a funeral). We all loved Pete and accepted him for what he was. I remember that as a child he seemed to me to be a big kid, who was always ready for a game. Would he have benefited from a diagnosis? We won’t ever know. But I do wonder if we’re over-diagnosing now, so that any child who doesn’t fit neatly into the ‘norm’ must have something ‘wrong’ with them that needs a diagnosis so we can ‘put it right’.
Obviously children have to learn socially acceptable behaviour, but there is a huge spectrum of conduct that could be described as unusual, eccentric or just odd. And after all it’s our oddities and eccentricities that make us who we are – individuals. I’d just begun my journey with Danny, and Reva had coped as best she could for all of Danny’s life, but by the time I’d read to the end of Reva’s notes I’d made the decision that I wouldn’t be using them much. As well as the rigidity of the routine being impractical in my household, I realized I’d be making a rod for my own back, as indeed Reva had. For, once in place, these routines had to be adhered to, because, as Reva had found, any changes were confusing and upsetting for Danny. I had the advantage of being able to start afresh, without the history and emotional baggage that had blighted Reva and Danny’s relationship.
I put away the notes and then gave some thought to what I should make for dinner that evening. Jill was coming at 4 p.m. – I needed something quick and easy that we could have soon after she’d gone so we wouldn’t be eating too late. I realized that the casserole I’d made the evening before hadn’t been the best choice of meal for Danny (who liked his food separate), but he’d coped. Reva had included in her notes that Danny’s diet was limited and that I should not give him meals where the food was combined, for example, spaghetti bolognese, cottage pie, porridge, rice pudding, etc. – many of the dishes my family and I enjoyed. While I would be making changes to Danny’s diet to give him a better variety and therefore standard of nutrition, I knew I shouldn’t make too many changes too quickly, so I decided on fish fingers and chips, which Reva had listed as one of Danny’s favourites. I’d add green beans for their vitamin content, and then for pudding we could have yoghurt and fruit, which Danny also ate, according to Reva’s notes.
Later that afternoon as I drove to collect Danny from school I thought again of Reva’s notes. She’d written that I had to stand in a particular place in the playground to wait for Danny while Yvonne or one of the other classroom assistants brought him out to me. The spot where I had to wait was at the top end of the hopscotch design, which apparently was painted in red on the playground, and which the children presumably played on at break. I hadn’t noticed the hopscotch design that morning, but then I’d been preoccupied with Danny and Reva.
I arrived ten minutes early and found the design easily. I stood, as I’d been told, at the top of the number ten box and waited for school to finish. As the playground filled with other parents and carers arriving to collect their children, I noticed that they waited some distance from where I was standing, over to the right and in front of the main door where the children would eventually come out. I began to feel slightly isolated on my hopscotch island and wondered why Reva hadn’t arranged a more sociable pick-up point, closer to the other parents. I’m someone who likes a chat and I spend a lot of time waiting in school playgrounds to collect the children I foster, so I usually find it isn’t long before I’m in conversation with another parent or carer. But there was no chance of that here. I’d need a loud-hailer to be heard by them.
The klaxon sounded from inside the school, and presently, the main door opened and the children started coming out. Danny was among the first, his coat zipped up and a large school bag over his shoulder that was nearly as big as him. He was holding the hand of a lady I took to be a classroom assistant. They looked in my direction and, seeing me, came across the playground. With his mop of blond hair, delicate features and slight build, Danny looked younger than six, especially compared to the other children, who appeared so robust as they ran shouting and laughing into the arms of their parents.
‘Hello, I’m Yvonne, Danny’s classroom assistant,’ the woman accompanying him said with a cheerful smile as they arrived. ‘You must be Cathy, Danny’s carer?’
‘Yes, hello. Lovely to meet you.’
‘And you.’
‘Sue asked me to give you this.’ Yvonne handed me an envelope. ‘It’s a copy of Danny’s education plan.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Danny has his reading book and the flash cards we’re working on in his bag. We keep the same book and cards for a week, so there’s no pressure to do the work every night. Just see how it goes.’
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a social worker visiting this evening, so we may not have a lot of time.’ Then, including Danny in the conversation, I said, ‘Have you had a good day?’ Which is what I asked all my children at the end of the school day.
I was expecting a nod or possibly a blank stare, but to my surprise Danny said, ‘Yes, thank you very much.’
Yvonne smiled. ‘It’s the phrase of the day,’ she said. ‘Danny often has a pet phrase he uses all day, sometimes for a few days, and then it changes.’
‘Well, it’s a nice polite phrase, so that’s good. How has he been after the trauma of yesterday?’
‘All right, I think,’ Yvonne said. ‘Although it’s sometimes difficult to tell what he’s feeling. There’s an exercise book in his bag that we use as a home school book. Record in it anything you think might be helpful to us and we’ll do the same. Reva used to do it, but I suppose you will now.’ I nodded. ‘I’ve made a note of today’s events in the book.’
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Cathy Glass
The fifteenth fostering memoir by Cathy Glass.Danny was petrified and clung to me in desperation as I carried him to my car. Trapped in his own dark world, he couldn't understand why his parents no longer loved or wanted him, and were sending him away.While Danny’s parents have everything they could wish for in material terms, they are unable to care for their only child. This is where Cathy comes in. On a cold dark evening Danny finds a place in her home where he can be himself; away from his parents’ impatience and frustration. Often in his own little world, six-year-old Danny finds it difficult to communicate, finding solace in his best friend and confidant George – his rabbit.Cathy quickly becomes aware of his obsessively meticulous behaviour in addition to his love of patterns, he sees them everywhere and creates them at any opportunity – in his play and also with his food. She realises that patience is the key to looking after Danny as well as her well-tried strategies for managing children’s behaviour.With his father refusing to cooperate, it becomes increasingly likely that Danny will be living with Cathy permanently until she gets an opportunity to speak her piece.
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Copyright (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
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London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published by HarperElement 2015
Text Copyright © Cathy Glass 2015
Illustrations Copyright © Nicolette Caven 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photograph © Deborah Pendell/Arcangel Images (posed by model)
Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780008130497
Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780008130503
Version: 2016-08-17
Contents
Cover (#u5bc20ec8-ac55-5ad5-932f-6a3ff5f3b15f)
Title Page (#ulink_530b133e-fd49-5871-9646-1412b5d90c81)
Copyright (#ulink_d882bbda-134c-5e08-8080-f045213a8b45)
Also by Cathy Glass (#ulink_af13ab75-93b3-5a35-ac87-4f0de7e49600)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_e5a9dd44-f908-57cb-ade3-7839bf0e4d10)
Chapter One: Lost and Frightened (#ulink_911ed1bc-cfcc-5a39-86d1-8166bcb67f1b)
Chapter Two: Meticulous (#ulink_3323e775-c38b-5bf7-b470-b0c4b2970af9)
Chapter Three: George (#ulink_1d6c7929-3988-53ed-85c2-a518a5ea1cbf)
Chapter Four: Precise (#ulink_ebbe3876-cd19-5cb2-95d6-286af81b2926)
Chapter Five: Absolute Hell (#ulink_92a3d708-5c8a-505d-87de-349caa8df154)
Chapter Six: Prisoners (#ulink_5f854f06-df8b-5805-b0fb-6477f8aa3526)
Chapter Seven: Crisis Averted (#ulink_495215df-1958-503a-871a-27e6dbc86cb1)
Chapter Eight: A Work of Art (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: Danny Drowning (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Don’t Tell the Social Worker (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: ‘Carrot Before the Donkey’s Nose’ (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Forever? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Cooped Up (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Traumatic (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: Danny’s World (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Making Friends (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: Terri’s Visit (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: Footprints in the Snow (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: Love (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty: Important (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One: For the Good of the Child (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two: No Cavity Club (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three: History Repeating Itself? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four: Significant Development (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five: Stay Calm (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six: Saving Danny (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Another Story … (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Exclusive sample chapter (#litres_trial_promo)
Cathy Glass (#litres_trial_promo)
If you loved this book … (#litres_trial_promo)
Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Cathy Glass (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
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Hidden
Cut
The Saddest Girl in the World
Happy Kids
The Girl in the Mirror
I Miss Mummy
Mummy Told Me Not to Tell
My Dad’s a Policeman (a Quick Reads novel)
Run, Mummy, Run
The Night the Angels Came
Happy Adults
A Baby’s Cry
Happy Mealtimes for Kids
Another Forgotten Child
Please Don’t Take My Baby
Will You Love Me?
About Writing and How to Publish
Daddy’s Little Princess
The Child Bride
Acknowledgements (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
A big thank-you to my family; my editor, Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; and all the team at HarperCollins.
Chapter One
Lost and Frightened (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
It was dark outside, and cold, at five o’clock on Tuesday, 1 February. I was expecting a six-year-old boy to arrive with his social worker at any moment. Indeed, I’d been expecting them for the last hour. Danny was coming into foster care and Jill, my support social worker, had given me some details about him over the phone two days previously. As well as being six, I knew he was an only child who had learning difficulties and challenging behaviour, which included meltdowns, tantrums and aggression, and his parents – unable to cope any longer – had approached the social services. Danny was coming into care under a ‘Section 20’, also known as accommodated or voluntary care, where the parents agree to the move and retain full legal parental rights. The hope was that Danny would eventually be able to return home.
I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. My children – Adrian, fifteen, Paula, eleven, and Lucy (soon to be adopted), thirteen – were upstairs in their bedrooms, hopefully doing their homework before they watched television or generally relaxed. As I worked I listened out for the doorbell signalling the arrival of Terri, Danny’s social worker, with little Danny. If all had gone to plan Danny’s mother would have taken some of his clothes and toys to his school at the end of the day, where she would have met with Terri, explained to Danny that he was coming into foster care and said goodbye. It would have been an emotional and upsetting parting for mother and son, but they would be seeing each other regularly. Jill was going to arrive with the placement information forms once Terri and Danny were here. However, when the telephone rang I guessed things weren’t going smoothly. Experience had taught me to expect last-minute changes, even if the move was planned, as Danny’s was.
‘I’ve just heard from Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ Jill said. ‘There’s a problem. Danny became very distressed when they told him he was coming into care, even though Terri handled it sensitively and stressed he’d be seeing his mother regularly. Apparently he kicked his mother and ran off screaming. He’s somewhere in the school grounds. Terri and the staff at the school are looking for him. Hopefully they’ve found him by now. His mother was too upset to stay and went home. Terri has asked if you can go to Danny’s school and collect him. She thinks he’ll feel a bit better once he’s met you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave straight away. It should take me about fifteen minutes.’ I knew from the information Jill had already given me where Danny’s school was.
‘Thank you,’ Jill said. ‘Can you let me know when you’re home with Danny? If it’s too late for me to visit I’ll come tomorrow.’
‘All right. Will do.’
We said a quick goodbye and I hurried out of the kitchen and upstairs to where my children were. Thankfully they were old enough now to be left for short periods. When they were younger and I was called out at short notice, as a single-parent foster carer I had to take them with me, which at times was quite disruptive for them. Now, however, I knocked on each of their bedroom doors, stuck my head round and said, ‘Jill’s just telephoned. I have to collect Danny from school. Can you keep an eye on the dinner, please? I should be back in about an hour.’
They knew Danny was coming to stay and that plans in fostering could change without much notice, so their responses were: ‘Yes,’ ‘OK,’ and ‘See ya later,’ followed by a chorus of ‘Bye, Mum.’
Downstairs again, I quickly slipped on my shoes and coat and, grabbing my bag and keys, headed out the front door. I felt the adrenalin kick in and my pulse quicken as I jumped into my car and then drove in the direction of Danny’s school. Poor little mite, I thought. He went to school as usual this morning, expecting to return home to his parents at the end of day, and then his mother and a social worker arrived to tell him he’s going to live with a foster carer – a complete stranger. How devastating, especially for a child like Danny, who already had problems. Little wonder he’d run off. I hoped he’d been found and was calmer now.
I turned into Yew Road where Danny’s school was and the first thing I saw was a police car parked outside, with its lights casting a moving glow over the front of the school building and nearby houses. With a stab of fear I thought the police’s presence must have something to do with Danny. I parked in the road, a little back from the police car, and got out. His school, Yew Primary, like many in the area, had a small tarmac playground at the front and grass playing fields at the sides and rear, which were flanked by shrubs and trees. As I hurried along the pavement and then across the front playground I could see torch lights flickering over the playing fields to the right of the building and hear voices calling, ‘It’s OK, Danny! There’s nothing to be frightened of!’ and ‘Danny, are you there?’ So Danny hadn’t been found and was still out there in the cold and dark.
I went in the main door, which was no longer security locked as it would have been during the day, and then through the empty reception and into the corridor beyond. All the lights were on, but it was eerily quiet and empty. I didn’t know the building, but the layout was clear. It was single storey and I hurried along the corridor towards the door that led out to the playing fields. All the classrooms I passed were empty. School finished at 3.30 and I assumed the staff that hadn’t gone home were probably on the playing field looking for Danny. I pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and stepped outside. A security light flashed on overhead. I could see three torch beams flickering along the edges of the fields as they searched the shrubbery, and male and female voices were calling Danny’s name. Then one female voice came closer.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, stepping out of the dark to stand beside me.
‘I’m Cathy Glass, Danny’s foster carer.’
‘Hello. I’m Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming. It’s a nightmare. I called the police. There are two officers as well as some of the staff looking for him. The police and the caretaker have the torches, but there’s no sign of Danny. Goodness knows where he is.’ In the light of the security lamp I could see Terri looked very stressed and worried, with good reason. She was average height, mid-thirties, with short brown hair, and was dressed in a quilted winter jacket and jeans.
‘How long has he been out here?’ I asked.
‘Nearly an hour now. He has his coat on, thank goodness – or did have, when he fled. It all seemed to be going well, but when his mother began to say goodbye to him, he flipped. He kicked her and ran off crying and screaming. He’s been out here ever since.’
‘Is it possible he’s not in the school grounds?’ I asked, concerned.
‘We’ve searched the building twice,’ Terri said. ‘The police have said once we’ve finished searching the grounds, if we haven’t found him they’ll widen the search and bring in the police helicopter. He could have got out of the school grounds, but it’s unlikely. He would’ve had to scale a six-foot-high fence, which runs all around the perimeter.’
‘What can I do?’ I asked.
‘Help search,’ Terri said. ‘We’re taking it in sections. Come with me.’
I went with her across the dark, damp playing fields as torch beams flickered in the shrubbery like ghostly will-o’-the-wisps. Without a torch visibility was only a few metres, and then all you could see were shadows. I wished I’d brought a torch, but then I hadn’t known Danny was still out here. I followed Terri to a section of the perimeter where no one else was searching and we began peering in and around the bushes, all the time calling Danny’s name. ‘Danny’ echoed in the darkness behind us as the others searching also called his name. We were concentrating on any movement, sound or irregular dark shadow that could be a young boy hiding, huddled small with fear, but there was nothing. I felt a growing dread that he had managed to leave the school grounds, for I knew from experience that when a child is very distraught they can scale heights and run distances they wouldn’t be able to normally. Terri must have been thinking the same thing, for after a few minutes she turned from where she was looking and said, ‘I think we need to bring in the police helicopter now and look outside the school.’
Yet just as we turned to head back to the school, a male voice came from the far side of the playing field: ‘Found him!’
‘Thank God,’ Terri gasped.
We hurried across the dark field in the direction of the voice. The others were doing the same – those with torches had their beams pointed a little ahead, lighting their way. As we drew close to where the voice had come from I saw that it was one of the police officers who had found Danny. His torch was tucked under his arm, and he was holding Danny against his chest. All I could see of Danny was the back of his head and coat.
‘Thank you so much,’ Terri said to the officer.
‘Well done,’ his colleague said to him.
The other searchers had arrived and we formed a small circle around the officer and Danny. ‘You’re OK now, son, aren’t you?’ the officer said gently to Danny.
Danny didn’t reply. His face was buried in the officer’s jacket and his little hands, knuckle-white, gripped his lapels for all he was worth.
‘Thank goodness we found you,’ Terri said, taking a step closer to Danny.
‘Good boy,’ another female voice added.
‘We’ll go into your school now,’ the police officer holding Danny said in a calm and reassuring voice. ‘Then, if you’re all right, you can go home.’
‘To his foster home,’ Terri corrected.
Danny didn’t speak or move.
‘So you’re going to stay with a foster carer,’ the officer said, trying to reassure him ‘That’ll be nice.’
Danny didn’t say anything and remained motionless. The officer turned and began towards the school, and the rest of us followed. As we entered through the door at the rear of the building Danny chanced to peep out and I caught sight of his little round face with pale cheeks and blue eyes wide with fear.
‘Hi, love,’ I said gently. ‘I’m Cathy, your foster carer.’
He buried his head in the officer’s jacket.
Inside the school we congregated in one of the classrooms. We could see each other properly now with the lights on. Three members of staff who’d been on the field helping in the search said that now Danny had been found they’d go home. Terri thanked them and they called goodbye as they left. Then the caretaker said he’d go and start to lock up and would we let him know when we were going.
‘Thanks, Sam,’ a young woman said. Then she introduced herself to me. ‘I’m Sue Bright, Danny’s teacher.’
‘Hello. Cathy Glass, Danny’s foster carer,’ I said with a smile.
The police officer carrying Danny sat on one of the children’s school chairs while the other officer stood by the closed classroom door – possibly to stop Danny if he tried to run off again, although that didn’t seem likely. He remained very quiet and still, with his face buried in the officer’s chest so that only his mop of blond hair was visible.
‘Danny,’ Terri said, squatting down beside him. ‘Are you OK?’
Danny didn’t respond.
‘I expect you’re hungry,’ she said. ‘Cathy, your foster carer, is going to take you home in her car soon and give you a nice hot dinner. Then, when you’ve had a sleep, she’ll bring you to school tomorrow and you’ll see your mother.’
Danny remained motionless. He didn’t acknowledge that he had heard Terri or even that she was there.
‘Danny,’ his teacher, Sue, now said, stepping forwards. ‘It’s getting very late. All the other children have gone home. We’re all going home too. You are going to Cathy’s house for tonight and then we’ll see you tomorrow in school.’ She came across as very caring and had spoken to him gently, but he didn’t respond.
‘We’ve got a meeting here tomorrow at nine o’clock,’ Terri now said to me.
I nodded, more concerned with getting Danny home than a meeting in the morning.
‘Danny, time to go home with Cathy,’ Terri said, touching his hand.
Danny snatched his hand away and tucked it beneath his coat but didn’t say anything or look up. The police officer standing by the door answered his radio and we heard a female voice at the control centre ask if he and his colleague could attend an RTA (road traffic accident). The officer replied that they could, as Danny had been found safe and well. When he’d finished he joked to us: ‘That was my mum telling me dinner was ready,’ and I smiled.
‘Danny, time to go with Cathy now,’ Terri said again. ‘I’ll phone your mother and tell her you’re safe, then she’ll come to school to see you in the morning.’
Danny still didn’t move or speak. Clearly he had to come with me, so Terri lightly lifted his arm and began easing him away from the officer. Danny didn’t resist. I stepped forward ready to take him and Terri and the officer lifted Danny into my arms. As soon as his little body touched mine he wrapped his legs tightly around my waist, grabbed my coat sleeves and buried his head in my chest. I breathed a sigh of relief now that I had him safe. It was just a matter of getting him into my car and home. Some six-year-olds are quite heavy, and being of a slight build myself I would have had difficulty carrying them, but Danny was as light as a feather – too light for a child of his age, I thought.
‘We’ll see you to your car,’ said the police officer who’d been holding Danny.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Here’s his bag,’ Terri said, passing a large canvas holdall to the officer.
‘I’ll phone your mother now,’ Terri said to Danny, staying behind. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘See you tomorrow in school,’ his teacher said to us as we began towards the classroom door.
‘Yes, see you tomorrow,’ I replied.
Danny didn’t make a sound, but his legs tightened around my waist and his fingers gripped my coat. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ I reassured him. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
The officer standing by the classroom door held it open for me and I carried Danny out of the classroom and along the corridor. His teacher and social worker stayed behind. I would see them both at the meeting in the morning. The officers came with me and opened the main door and I stepped outside into the cold and dark again. Danny tightened his grip further and I held him close and talked to him gently, reassuring him that everything would be all right. I passed my car keys to the officer and he unlocked my car and opened the door. The officer holding Danny’s bag put it on the passenger seat and then they waited while I lifted Danny into the child’s car seat. He was still clinging desperately to me and I had to gently release his grip, all the time talking to him reassuringly. Once in the car seat he didn’t look at me but pulled his head down into his coat. I fastened his seatbelt, checked it and then straightened. The officers said goodbye to Danny before I closed the rear door.
‘Doesn’t say much, does he?’ the officer who’d been holding him remarked.
‘He’s scared stiff,’ I said. ‘Thank you for your help.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He handed me my keys and began towards the police car.
I opened the driver’s door and climbed in. Before I started the engine I turned and looked at Danny. ‘Try not to worry, love,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be all right.’
But Danny pulled his head further down into his coat, and I thought the sooner we were home the better.
Chapter Two
Meticulous (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
As I drove I glanced in the rear-view mirror to check if Danny was all right, but he kept his head down, buried deep in his coat, so I couldn’t see his face. I talked to him in a calm and reassuring manner, but he didn’t reply or say anything – not once. Even when I told him he’d be able to have ice cream and chocolate pudding for dessert, which would have elicited a response from most children, there was nothing from him. Nothing to say he’d even heard. I was relieved when we arrived home.
‘We’re here,’ I said to him as I pulled onto the drive.
I cut the engine, got out and walked round to the passenger side where I took Danny’s holdall from the seat and hooked it over my shoulder. I then opened Danny’s door, which was child-locked. ‘We’re here, love,’ I said again.
Danny remained silent and sat very still; he didn’t even raise his head to have a look at his new surroundings as I thought he might.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’ I released his seatbelt.
As I slipped my arms around his waist to lift him out he leapt at me, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck and his legs around my waist as he had done before. I manoeuvred him out of the car and then pushed the door shut with my foot.
‘This is my home,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be your home too, for a while.’
I carried him across the drive to the front door and went in. ‘My son and my two daughters live here too,’ I said as I closed the door. ‘They’re looking forward to playing with you.’
Nothing. Danny clung to me in desperation, his head in my shoulder. I set his holdall on the floor, then lowered him into the chair by the telephone table. His arms and legs were still wrapped around me, so I had to gently release them.
‘Let’s take off our coats and shoes and then we’ll have something to eat,’ I said. I could smell the casserole I’d left in the oven and I hoped one of the children had remembered to switch it off.
Danny was sitting where I’d put him on the chair, motionless and with his chin pressed into his chest. I was starting to find his silence and complete lack of reaction to anything I said worrying. I knew from Jill that there were concerns about his language skills and general learning development, but there’d been no mention of deafness. Danny’s prolonged silence and indifference to the noises around him suggested a child who couldn’t hear. He wouldn’t be the first child I’d fostered who had hearing loss – either from birth or as a result of a trauma to the head – that hadn’t been diagnosed.
I took off my shoes and hung my coat on the hall stand. Then I began undoing the zipper on Danny’s coat, but as I did so he suddenly pulled back and hugged his coat tightly to him, clearly not wanting to take it off. ‘Are you cold?’ I asked him. He didn’t feel cold and the car had been very warm. He didn’t reply but clutched his coat to him as if for protection. ‘OK, let’s take off your shoes first then,’ I said easily.
I knelt down and unstuck the Velcro first from one shoe and then the other, and slid them off. Danny didn’t object, and I paired his shoes with ours beneath the coat stand. ‘We’ll leave your shoes here, ready for morning,’ I explained, but he didn’t respond.
Danny’s shoes, coat and what I could see of his school uniform beneath his coat appeared to be quite new and of good quality, unlike many of the children I’d fostered, who’d arrived in rags and with their toes poking through worn-out trainers. I now made another attempt to take off his coat, but he clung to it.
‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘Leave it on for now, although I think you’re going to be hot in the house. The heating is on.’
Danny didn’t answer, nor did he look at me. He kept his chin down, his little face expressionless. But any thoughts I’d entertained about him being deaf now vanished. Upstairs Paula opened her bedroom door. Danny heard it and looked up anxiously. ‘That’s Paula,’ I said to him. ‘One of my daughters.’
He lowered his head again.
‘Come and meet Danny,’ I called to Paula, and she came downstairs. ‘He’s feeling a bit lonely at present, but I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets to know us all.’
‘Hello, Danny,’ Paula said softly, going up to him. ‘How are you?’
His head was down but he gave the smallest of nods. It was the first sign of recognition from him and I was pleased. ‘Well done, Paula,’ I said.
‘The dinner was ready, Mum, so I switched off the oven,’ she said.
‘Thanks, love. I was longer than I thought I’d be.’
‘And Jill telephoned,’ Paula said. ‘Lucy answered it. Jill thought you’d be back and asked if you would phone her when you returned.’
‘Yes, I’ll phone her now,’ I said.
Lucy and Adrian called ‘Hi’ from the landing and then returned to their rooms to finish their homework. They’d come down and meet Danny properly later. I looked at Danny. He was going to have to get off the chair now and come with me.
‘Danny, we’re going into the living room,’ I said. ‘There are some toys in there for you to play with. I’ll unpack your bag later.’ I’d sorted out a selection of age-appropriate games and puzzles for him to play with that afternoon.
Danny didn’t move or say anything.
‘Come on, love,’ I said, gently taking his arm. ‘You can’t stay here.’
Paula was looking a bit concerned. Most children arrived with something to say – some had plenty to say. I eased him off the chair, took his hand and led him gently down the hall and into the living room.
‘He’s still got his coat on, Mum,’ Paula said.
‘Yes, he’s going to take it off later, aren’t you?’ I said to Danny, but there was no response.
Now he was standing I could see just how small he was. I’d previously fostered a four-year-old girl, Alice, whose story I told in I Miss Mummy, but Danny, two years older, was about the same size as her, and definitely well below the average height and weight for a boy of his age. Perhaps his parents were of small stature, I thought, which could account for it.
Danny looked at the toys in the centre of the living room but didn’t immediately go to them as most children would have done, so I led him over. ‘Do you like building bricks?’ I asked, pointing to the Lego. ‘Perhaps you’d like to build a car? Or a castle, or a boat, or a house?’ I suggested.
He didn’t say anything but did squat on the floor by the toys, where he just sat staring at them.
‘I need to phone Jill,’ I said to Paula.
‘I’ll play with him,’ she offered.
‘Thanks, love.’
Paula knelt on the floor beside Danny while I sat on the sofa and picked up the handset from the corner table. It was after office hours, so I keyed in the number for Jill’s mobile and she answered straightaway.
‘It’s Cathy. Danny’s with me,’ I said. ‘We’ve just got in.’
‘Is everything OK?’ Jill asked.
‘I think so. It took a while to find him. The police were there. But he’s safe now. I’ll give him some dinner soon.’ I couldn’t say too much as Danny was within earshot, and I didn’t want to leave him so soon after arriving and phone from another room.
‘Is Terri with you?’ Jill asked.
‘No, she stayed behind to telephone Danny’s mother and tell her Danny had been found. There’s a meeting at school first thing in the morning. At nine o’clock.’
‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ Jill said. ‘I won’t be able to attend. I’ve got a child’s review booked in at nine-fifteen. It’s been in the diary for a month.’
It was more important for Jill to attend a child’s review than the meeting at Danny’s school, and Jill knew that as an experienced foster carer I’d be all right to attend the meeting without her, otherwise she would have arranged for another support social worker from the fostering agency to accompany me.
‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know what happens.’
‘Thanks. I’ll visit you and Danny tomorrow after school,’ Jill said. ‘Four o’clock?’
‘That’s fine. We’ll be home by then.’
‘And you’ve got everything you need for tonight?’ Jill asked.
‘I think so. Danny’s come with a holdall. Terri didn’t say he had any allergies or special dietary requirements, so I assume there are none.’
‘There’s nothing in the essential information forms,’ Jill confirmed. ‘And he hasn’t come with any medication?’
‘Not as far as I know, no.’
‘All right, well, good luck then, see you tomorrow.’
We said goodbye. I replaced the handset and looked at Danny. He was now watching Paula put together the pieces of Lego but wasn’t making any attempt to join in, although Paula was encouraging him. It was 6.30, and I really needed to get the dinner on the table. Danny was calm, so I asked Paula if she could stay with him while I went into the kitchen. I went over to Danny to tell him what was going to happen. When a child first arrives I find it helps them if routines, practices and expectations are explained as they arise. Households vary and what is obvious and familiar to members of one household won’t be to another. It helps them to settle in if they have a routine and know what to expect.
‘Danny,’ I said, squatting down so I was in his line of vision (although he didn’t make eye contact), ‘it’s nearly time for our dinner, so I’m going into the kitchen to finish making it. Then we’ll all sit at the table and eat. Paula is going to stay here with you, while I’m in the kitchen. All right?’
He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me, but I now knew he could hear, so I continued. ‘If you need anything, tell Paula. Do you need the toilet yet?’ I thought to ask.
Danny gave a small shake of his head.
‘OK. Good boy. When you do, ask Paula or me, and I’ll show you where it is.’ Usually, I took a new child on a tour of the house soon after they’d arrived so that they knew where everything was, and normally they were inquisitive and ready to have a good look around, but Danny wasn’t. He was clearly struggling with all the changes, so I thought I’d leave the tour for another time. He was a child who needed to take things very gradually, one step at a time.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked him as I stood.
He gave another little shake of his head.
‘I’ll leave the door open so you can hear me in the kitchen,’ I said. I went to touch his shoulder – a little reassuring physical contact – but he moved out of reach. Not rudely, just showing he didn’t want to be touched, which I understood. I hoped that would change in future when he got to know me, for if there was ever a child who looked in need of a hug, it was Danny.
As I worked in the kitchen I could hear Paula talking to Danny, encouraging him to play, but there was nothing coming from Danny. I would learn more about his language delay and general development at the meeting at his school the following morning, when I would also meet his mother.
Once dinner was ready I went into the living room where Paula and Danny were sitting on the floor as I’d left them. Paula had built a small house out of Lego, complete with windows, a door and a potted plant on the doorstep. Danny appeared not to have even touched the Lego. There were other games and toys within his reach, but he hadn’t attempted any of them, despite Paula’s encouragement.
‘Very nice,’ I said to Paula, admiring her house.
She grinned. ‘I’ve always liked Lego.’
‘I know. Dinner’s ready,’ I said to them both. ‘I’ll call Adrian and Lucy.’
I left the living room and went to the foot of the stairs where I called up to Adrian and Lucy. They replied that they’d be down straightaway. I returned to the living room where, to my slight surprise, Danny was slowly undoing the zipper on his coat. Then he began struggling out of it – difficult while sitting down. Paula instinctively reached out to help him, but he pulled away from her. She looked at me and I motioned for her not to worry. Fiercely independent, Danny struggled out of his coat and then clutched it protectively to his chest.
‘Danny, we’re going to eat now,’ I said, going over to him.
He didn’t look at me or reply, but he did stand up.
‘Wotcha!’ Lucy said to Danny, as she bounced into the living room. ‘I’m Lucy, Cathy’s other daughter. How are you doing, Mister?’
Danny didn’t look at her.
‘I was a foster child once,’ Lucy said, trying to reassure him. ‘So I know how you feel. But you’ll be fine here, I promise you. You’ll be well looked after and will soon feel at home.’
Bless her, I thought, although Lucy’s arrival as a foster child had been very different to Danny’s. She’d been older and had been grateful for the stability that being in care offered. I wondered if Danny would respond to her approach, but he didn’t; he just clutched his coat and stared at the floor. He looked so lost and alone I dearly wished I could reach out and hug him, as I’m sure Paula and Lucy did too, but clearly Danny was nowhere near ready for that yet.
‘Let’s eat,’ I said.
Lucy turned and led the way into the kitchen-cum-dining room with Paula following and then Danny and me. Danny was still clutching his coat.
‘This is where you sit,’ I said to Danny, drawing out the chair. We tended to keep the same places at the table, partly from habit but also because it helped the children I fostered to settle in if they knew where to sit. It became known as their place, and some even wrote their name on a piece of paper and stuck it to the back of the chair.
Danny was standing by his chair, still holding his coat. ‘Shall I put your coat with ours in the hall?’ I asked him.
He shook his head.
‘Hang it on the back of your chair then,’ I said, ‘so it doesn’t get food down it. It’s a nice coat. You don’t want it spoilt.’
Thankfully, Danny did as I asked and very slowly and meticulously draped his coat around the chair-back, and then spent time adjusting and straightening it.
‘That’s cute,’ Lucy said, watching him. Indeed it was, but it was also a little odd. Most boys of Danny’s age would have happily thrown their coat on the floor, not spent minutes perfecting its position. Adrian still dumped his coat on the floor sometimes if he was in a hurry.
‘Sit down now,’ I said to Danny, for having arranged his coat to his satisfaction he was still standing by the chair.
There was a small delay, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, before he climbed onto his chair.
Adrian arrived and said, ‘Hi, Danny,’ as he took his place at the table.
Danny lifted his head slightly in Adrian’s direction but didn’t look at him.
‘This is my son Adrian,’ I said to Danny.
‘Hi, Danny,’ Adrian said again, but Danny still didn’t reply.
‘It’s bound to take Danny a while to get used to us all,’ I reassured everyone.
I served dinner and then sat in my place at the end of the table. Danny and Paula sat next to each other, to my right, and Adrian and Lucy to my left. We all began eating except little Danny, who sat motionless with his hands in his lap, staring at the contents of his plate. I’d given him a spoon as well as a knife and fork, but he made no attempt to pick up any of them. ‘It’s chicken and vegetable casserole,’ I said. ‘Try some. I’m sure you’ll like it.’
‘It’s nice,’ Lucy encouraged.
‘Yummy,’ Paula said.
Danny didn’t move or make any attempt to start eating.
‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘You need to eat something,’ I picked up his spoon and placed it on the edge of his plate, ready for him to use.
After a moment he slowly picked up the spoon, but instead of dipping it into his food to start eating he set it down again. He repositioned it precisely beside his plate and then picked it up again. Independent, or resenting my help? I didn’t know. My children had seen this, but they knew better than to comment. Nor did they say anything about what Danny did next. Having picked up his spoon, he didn’t use it to start eating but began separating out the various components of the casserole. He arranged them in little heaps around the edge of his plate so that after a while there was a little pile of chicken pieces, another of diced potatoes, another of sliced carrots, and a mound of peas. You couldn’t really call it ‘playing’ or ‘toying’ with his food – it was too exact and precise for that. My children and I watched mesmerised – surreptitiously, of course, so Danny didn’t notice.
‘Are you going to eat it now?’ I asked him eventually.
Danny gave a small nod and then, using his spoon, began eating his food, one pile at a time. First the chicken, then the potatoes, carrots and peas. It wasn’t how one would normally eat a casserole, but the important thing was that Danny was eating. He finished it all and then spent some minutes scooping up the gravy until his plate was clear.
‘Good boy,’ I said.
He was the last to finish, and I now stood and began gathering together the dirty dishes. As I did, Danny finally spoke. He said one word: ‘George.’
Chapter Three
George (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
We all looked at him. We couldn’t help it. Danny suddenly speaking had taken us all by surprise.
‘George?’ Paula and I chorused together.
‘Who’s George?’ Lucy asked.
‘George,’ Danny repeated. ‘George. George.’
‘Tell me who George is,’ I said, ‘and I can help you.’
Danny stared around the room and then towards the kitchen as though he was looking for something or someone. ‘George,’ he said again, louder. ‘George!’
‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked, trying to make eye contact with him.
But he didn’t look at me or reply. He was staring around searchingly, clearly looking for something, but what or who? He was also growing increasingly anxious in his demands for George. ‘George! George!’
‘Is George a person?’ I asked him.
He didn’t reply.
‘A toy, maybe?’ I suggested. ‘Is George a toy in your holdall?’ I was envisaging a favourite toy packed by his mother that went everywhere with Danny and he couldn’t be separated from. But Danny shook his head vigorously.
‘George!’ he shouted again. Sliding off his chair, he ran into the kitchen and to the back door. I went after him.
‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked again.
‘George!’ he said, facing the back door as though George could be outside. ‘George! George!’ Danny was very agitated now and close to tears.
‘Danny, there’s no one out there, love,’ I said, going up to him. ‘George isn’t out there. Tell me who George is and I can help you.’
Danny turned from the door and looked around him, bewildered. Then he threw himself onto the floor, face down, and began sobbing and beating the tiles with his fists and feet. I knelt beside him and placed my hand lightly on his arm, but he wriggled out of reach and sobbed louder. Adrian, Paula and Lucy had fallen silent at the table and were looking at him, very worried.
‘George!’ Danny cried at the top of his voice as if he thought George might be able to hear him. ‘George!’
‘Danny, calm down,’ I said, staying close to him. ‘I’ll do what I can to find George.’
But he didn’t calm down; he continued sobbing loudly, crying out for George and beating the floor as his upset began to escalate into a tantrum. Sometimes, when a young child has a tantrum, holding them close and soothing them can ease them out of it, while older children often have to work through it before they can be held. Danny was so little and vulnerable my instinct was to pick him up, but given his resistance to physical contact I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.
‘Danny,’ I said, lightly touching his arm again, ‘can you tell me who George is?’
There was a small pause before he cried, ‘No!’ and thrashed around on the floor even more.
‘I can’t help you unless I know what it is you want,’ I said more firmly.
‘George!’ Danny yelled at the top of his voice.
At that moment Toscha, our rather lazy cat, perhaps intrigued by the commotion going on indoors, leapt in through the cat flap. Danny suddenly fell quiet – from shock, I think – and, sitting bolt upright, stared at Toscha. She threw him a disparaging glance and then sauntered over to her food bowl.
‘Not George!’ Danny cried, pointing to Toscha.
‘No. That’s Toscha, our cat,’ I said.
‘Not George!’ Danny cried again as though it was her fault.
‘No, our cat,’ I repeated. Danny got onto all fours and crawled to the cat flap and pushed it open.
‘Is there something you want to see outside?’ I asked.
Danny nodded vigorously.
‘Can you bring me Danny’s coat and shoes, please?’ I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula. I was wearing slippers, but Danny only had on his socks. Paula stood and went into the hall for Danny’s shoes while Lucy unhooked his coat from the chair and brought it to me.
‘Thank you,’ I said with a reassuring smile.
Danny was calmer now he knew he was going outside, although what he expected to find out there I’d no idea – I could foresee another tantrum when he was disappointed.
‘Do you want me to get your coat, Mum?’ Paula asked, arriving with Danny’s shoes.
‘No thanks, love. We won’t be out there for long. It’s cold.’
I set Danny’s shoes on the floor beside him. ‘Shall I put them on for you or do you want to do it?’ He took first one and then the other, quickly stuffing his foot in and doing up the Velcro. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now stand up and put your coat on.’ I held his coat out ready for him. There was a moment’s pause, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, and then he slipped his arms into each of the sleeves and drew his coat around him.
‘I want you to hold my hand when we go out into the garden,’ I said to him. ‘It’s dark and there’s a step outside. I don’t want you falling.’ Also, not knowing what Danny wanted to do in the garden, I was concerned he might be thinking of running off and hiding again as he had done at school.
Danny didn’t offer me his hand, so I repeated that he needed to hold my hand before we went into the garden. After another pause he did as I’d asked. ‘Good boy,’ I said, taking every opportunity to praise him.
I opened the back door. The light from the kitchen shone out illuminating the step, and I helped him over it. Once outside Danny began looking around again anxiously. ‘George?’ he asked. ‘Where George?’
‘I don’t think we’re going to find George here,’ I said gently.
‘George,’ Danny repeated. Still holding my hand, he led me round the back where we stood on the patio facing the house. He pointed to the wall beneath the kitchen window. ‘George?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘George?’
‘Did you think George would be here?’ I asked him. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry, love, he’s not. I expect he’s at your house. Who is George?’
Danny opened his mouth as if to answer, but it was as though he couldn’t find the right word, so he said something else instead – ‘George needs dinner’ – and his eyes filled with tears.
Then it dawned on me. ‘Is George an animal?’ I asked.
Danny gave a very small nod.
‘Is George your pet who lives outside?’
Danny nodded. ‘George needs feeding.’
‘I expect your mother has given George his dinner,’ I reassured him. ‘What type of animal is George?’
Danny looked around, bemused, apparently unable to find the right word.
‘Does George live in a cage?’ I asked, narrowing down the possibilities.
Danny nodded.
‘Is he a rabbit?’
Danny turned to me, and for the first time since I’d collected him from school and brought him home he made eye contact. ‘Yes. George Danny’s best friend,’ he said so sadly I could have wept.
‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘I understand. Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.’
Danny still had his hand in mine and he slowly turned away from the place where he thought George would be. He looked lost and utterly defeated as he allowed me to lead him back indoors.
Danny’s assumption that George had come with him to live with us was, I felt, logical for a child of six. Danny had come to stay, so why shouldn’t his beloved pet and best friend have come too? It would have helped Danny if his mother or his social worker had explained to him more fully about coming into care – or perhaps they had, for I was realizing that Danny was a child with very special needs who not only had difficulty with language but seemed to have great difficulty processing information as well. I wondered if he’d been assessed.
Danny appeared slightly dazed by what had happened and let me help him out of his coat and shoes without protest. Paula took them into the hall. He was too preoccupied with George’s absence to notice that his coat had gone to hang with ours on the coat stand. I explained to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that George was Danny’s much-loved pet rabbit, which he had hoped had come with him. I could see from their expressions that they were as moved as I was by Danny’s upset, for they appreciated the bond that existed between pets and their owners from having Toscha with us for so many years.
‘Come on, Danny,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and sit down and I’ll try to explain what’s going on.’
I took him into the living room where I asked him to sit on the sofa. He clambered on and I sat next to him, close but not touching, which, to a child such as Danny who wasn’t naturally tactile, could have felt threatening and like an invasion of his personal space.
‘No George?’ he asked sadly, without looking at me.
‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house, safe and warm. I’m sure your mother will have given him his dinner.’
Danny shook his head and tried to say something, but nothing came out.
‘Do you usually feed George?’ I asked him.
He nodded.
‘After you’ve had your dinner?’ I asked. From the way Danny had left the table and started looking for George as soon as he’d finished his dinner, I thought it was probably a routine.
He nodded again.
‘Danny, I need you to listen carefully to what I am going to tell you. My name is Cathy and I’m a foster carer. I look after children to help their parents. You’ll still see your mummy and daddy, and you’ll be going to school as normal. But you are going to live with me for a while. Your mummy and daddy love you, and George loves you too. You mustn’t worry about any of them. They are all safe.’ I’d no idea what Danny understood about coming to live with me, but I knew from experience that many children who came into care fretted and worried that something dreadful had happened to their parents and any loved ones they’d left behind. Once they’d seen them again at contact they were usually reassured. ‘Your mummy and daddy are safe at home, and George is safe in his hutch,’ I said.
‘George here,’ Danny said.
‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house.’
‘George here,’ Danny repeated, growing anxious again. I was puzzled that he was still asking as clearly he’d seen for himself that George’s hutch wasn’t outside.
‘No, love. George is at your house,’ I said again.
‘No! George here!’ Danny cried more insistently. It was then I realized that ‘George here’ now meant something different and was no longer a question.
‘You want George here?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘I understand.’
This was a difficult one, because pets don’t usually accompany a child into care. Reasons for this include that it isn’t always practical, members of the foster family may have allergies to animal fur, the animal might be unsafe (this usually applies to dogs), or the parent(s) might not want the pet to go with the child, which is understandable as they can be as attached to it as the child. But this was a little rabbit we were talking about that lived in a hutch outside. None of us were allergic to fur and I didn’t mind pets, so I decided not to immediately rule out the possibility of George coming to stay with us, but neither was I going to give Danny false hope.
‘I’ll talk to your mother about George when I see her tomorrow at school,’ I said to Danny.
‘Need George,’ Danny said despondently with his head down. I felt so sorry for him.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘We’ll see what your mother says tomorrow.’
This was the best I could offer and it seemed to reassure Danny a little, for he climbed off the sofa and went over to the games and puzzles that were still laid out on the floor. Kneeling down, he began to play with the Lego. I was pleased; this was a good sign. When a child feels relaxed enough to play it shows they are less anxious and starting to settle in.
However, as I watched Danny picking the Lego bricks out of the box and laying them on the floor, I saw that he wasn’t using them to build a house or car or any other object; he was arranging them end to end in a line. After a few minutes it was clear he was creating a multicoloured line of bricks, and I saw a pattern emerging from the different brick sizes and colours he was using: large white, small pink, large yellow, small red, blue, green, etc. I watched, impressed, as he concentrated hard and carefully selected each brick from the box and added it to the line. When the pattern had repeated three times he placed a large blue brick at right angles to the previous red brick to turn the corner, then added a green one at right angles to that and started creating a second line running parallel to the first with an identical repeating pattern. I’d never seen a child use Lego like this before, so intricate and precise. Maintaining the pattern he completed a third and then a fourth line, then halfway through the fifth line he ran out of red and blue bricks. He looked at the house Paula had previously built, which was an arbitrary arrangement of red, yellow and blue bricks.
I immediately realized what Danny wanted and called through to Paula, who was still at the dining table talking to Adrian and Lucy. ‘Is it all right if Danny breaks up your Lego house so he can use the bricks?’ I didn’t think she’d mind, but it seemed right to ask her.
‘Sure,’ she called back easily.
‘Go ahead,’ I said to Danny. ‘You can use Paula’s house.’
He picked up the Lego house and carefully dismantled it, then separated the bricks into their different colours. He completed a fifth and sixth line of bricks in the same sequence. There were six bricks left over and he returned those to the box. He then carefully put the lid on the box and pushed it away, out of sight, as though he didn’t want to be reminded of the rogue bricks that hadn’t fitted in. He sat back and contemplated his work. It had taken him about fifteen minutes.
‘Well done,’ I said, going over. ‘That’s a fantastic pattern.’
I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula to come and see what Danny had made and they dutifully traipsed in. But once they caught sight of his innovative use of Lego their expressions changed to surprise and awe as they admired the impressive six-line sequenced pattern. Here was a child with learning difficulties and very limited language skills producing a complex pattern.
‘That’s better than my house,’ Paula said kindly.
‘It’s the work of a genius!’ Lucy declared.
‘Where did you get that idea from?’ Adrian asked, obviously impressed.
Danny didn’t answer.
I assumed Danny would be pleased with the praise and admiration he was receiving – most children would be – and that he would show it by smiling, but he didn’t. His face remained expressionless, as it often was, and he continued to stare at the Lego pattern.
‘Very good,’ I said again. ‘We’ll leave it there while we have some dessert.’
‘What is for dessert, Mum?’ Adrian asked.
And before I could answer, without looking up, Danny said, ‘Ice cream and chocolate pudding.’
‘That’s right, Danny,’ I said. ‘Well done. We’re having ice cream and chocolate pudding. Let’s go to the table and have some now.’
Although Danny hadn’t acknowledged me when I’d mentioned dessert earlier in the car, he’d clearly taken it in and remembered what I’d said. His words had come out so quickly and on cue it was as though he’d had them ready at the forefront of his mind, for when they might be needed, whereas it seemed that if I said something new to him there was a delay before he responded, as though he needed time to process the information.
Leaving the Lego, Danny stood and we went into the kitchen-cum-dining-room where the children returned to the table and I went to the kitchen. I heated the chocolate pudding and spooned it into the dessert bowls, then added a generous helping of ice cream on top of each pudding. My children and I loved it served this way so that as the ice cream melted it created a delicious combination of taste and texture, hot and cold. I assumed Danny would like it too – all the other children we’d fostered had – but as the rest of us began eating Danny spent some time scraping the ice cream from the top of his pudding before he made a start. Then he ate the ice cream first, followed by the pudding.
‘Do you prefer your ice cream separate?’ I asked him.
He gave a small nod.
‘I’ll remember that for next time,’ I said. ‘If I forget you must tell me.’
It was only a small point but accommodating a child’s preferences, likes and dislikes helps them settle in and feel part of the family. Danny finished all his pudding and scraped his bowl clean. I was pleased he’d eaten a good meal. He was very slim and needed to put on some weight.
It was after seven o’clock now and I thought I should start Danny’s bedtime routine. He was only six years old and he’d had a very traumatic day. I was sure that once he’d slept in his room and enjoyed a good night’s sleep everything wouldn’t seem so strange to him and he’d start to feel better. I explained to him that it was time for bed and that I’d take him upstairs and help him get ready. He didn’t look at me as I spoke – his gaze was down – but he seemed to be concentrating and taking it all in. I asked him if he’d like a bedtime story before we went up, but he shook his head.
‘Would you like to see the other rooms in the house now?’ I asked. He’d only been in the living room and the kitchen-cum-diner.
Danny shook his head again, but then asked, ‘George?’
‘George is in bed,’ I said, hoping this was the right answer. ‘And you’ll see Mummy tomorrow at school,’ I added.
‘Daddy?’ he asked.
‘I expect Daddy’s at your house.’ I didn’t know if this was true, but it seemed a reasonable assumption given that Danny lived with both his parents and it was evening. Danny accepted this.
‘Would you like to say goodnight to Adrian, Paula and Lucy?’ I asked him. He looked away awkwardly and didn’t reply, so they said goodnight to him.
I offered Danny my hand to hold but he didn’t take it, so I led the way into the hall. As we passed the living room he looked in to check on the Lego. ‘We can leave the Lego as it is until tomorrow,’ I said.
He gave a small nod, and then came with me down the hall. Adrian had previously taken Danny’s holdall upstairs and placed it in his bedroom. As we passed the spot in the hall where the holdall had been Danny stopped and pointed.
‘Your bag is in your bedroom,’ I said.
Then he pointed to his coat, now hanging with ours on the coat stand. ‘Your coat is with ours ready for when we go out in the morning,’ I said.
He wasn’t reassured and began waving his arms agitatedly.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Your coat will be safe there.’
He flapped his arms more vigorously and then began rocking back and forth on his heels while making a low humming noise, clearly heading for another tantrum.
‘Enough, Danny,’ I said firmly. ‘I need to know what you want so I can help you.’
He started tugging at his coat, so I assumed he wanted it, but it was too high up for him to unhook.
‘OK. Stop,’ I said. ‘I’ll reach it down for you once you’re calmer,’ and I waited for him to relax. While giving him his coat wasn’t an issue – he could take it upstairs with him if it made him feel more secure – I didn’t want him to think that throwing a tantrum would get him what he wanted. He had some language skills and he needed to use them.
Gradually Danny grew still and became less agitated, so I took his coat from the stand and gave it to him. He didn’t put it on or clutch it protectively to his chest as he had done before; instead, he began reaching up to the coat stand again.
‘Do you want to hang it up yourself?’ I asked, having seen many toddlers do this.
Danny nodded.
‘Would you like me to lift you up so you can reach it?’
He nodded again.
He let me put my hands around his waist, and I lifted him up until he was high enough to hook his coat onto the stand. Then I set him on the floor again.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, without looking at me.
‘You’re welcome. It’s always best to try to tell me what you want, then I’ll know and can help you.’
I offered him my hand to hold to go upstairs but again he refused it, using the banister rail for support instead. Upstairs I showed him where the toilet was and asked him if he needed help. He shook his head, so I waited outside. I heard the toilet flush and then the taps run. He came out and I led the way to his bedroom.
‘This is your bedroom,’ I said. ‘I hope you like it. It will be better once you’ve got your things around you.’
Danny didn’t comment, nor did he look around the room, but he went to his holdall and unzipped it. At the top lay a soft-toy rabbit, which he picked up and held lovingly to his cheek.
‘George,’ he said with a small sigh, and for the first time since he’d arrived I saw him smile.
Chapter Four
Precise (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
I was upstairs for two hours helping Danny get ready for bed. He didn’t have a huge amount in his holdall – there was a couple of changes of clothes, pyjamas, a towel and wash bag – but Danny insisted on unpacking it all himself, and he was very precise. First he spent some time deciding which drawers to put his clothes in, then he spent a long time arranging them and rearranging them until, mindful of the time, I began chivvying him along. Once he was satisfied that his clothes were in the right drawer and positioned correctly he spent more time arranging his soft toy rabbit on the pillow, repositioning it in a number of different places.
‘It won’t ever be quite the same as at your house,’ I said, for clearly Danny couldn’t replicate exactly what he had at home.
But Danny continued until he was satisfied, and then finally changed into his pyjamas, neatly folding the clothes he’d taken off and placing them squarely at the foot of his bed, as I guessed he did at home. Eventually we went round the landing and into the bathroom. I showed him where everything was, and he spent some time arranging his towel and wash things beside ours. He was probably the most precise and self-sufficient six-year-old I’d ever come across, yet at the same time there was a vulnerability about him that was younger than his years.
‘You can have a bath tomorrow evening,’ I told him. ‘There isn’t time tonight. A good wash will be fine for now.’
Danny didn’t object and I placed the childstep in front of the hand basin so that he could comfortably reach into the bowl. He then spent some moments repositioning the step, squaring it, before he was satisfied and finally stood on it. I put the plug into the sink and turned on the taps. Danny turned them off, and then on again, wanting to do it himself.
‘The water is hot,’ I said, turning down the hot tap. ‘I need to help you with this.’ His face set; he didn’t like my interference, but he was six, and in some things he had to accept my help for his own safety. ‘Hot water can burn you,’ I told him.
He didn’t reply but stared blankly at the sink. I ran the water and checked the temperature. ‘That’s fine now,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to wash your face, or can you do it?’
There was pause before he picked up his flannel, folded it in half and half again, carefully submerged it in the water, squeezed it out and began washing his face. ‘Good boy,’ I said.
As Danny washed and dried his face and then cleaned his teeth, I saw there was something measured, almost ritualistic, in the way he performed the tasks. I guessed he carried them out exactly the same way every evening. In cleaning his teeth he carefully unscrewed the cap of his toothpaste, set the cap to one side, squirted a precise amount of paste onto his toothbrush, put down the brush, screwed the cap back on the paste and then began cleaning his teeth. Such exactness was very unusual for a child, and of course it was a slow process. I realized we would have to start the bedtime routine earlier in future. When Danny brushed his teeth the movement was so regular that it created a little rhythm as the brush went back and forth over his upper front teeth, then the left and right, and the same on his lower teeth. But he appeared content, as though he enjoyed the feel of it. I began to think he could continue indefinitely, so eventually I said, ‘You’ve done a good job, Danny. You can rinse out now.’
There was a pause before he did as I’d asked. Then he patted his mouth dry on his towel and returned it to the rail, where he spent some moments squaring it before he was satisfied. I wondered how much of his precise and ritualistic behaviour was because he was anxious and how much was just part of Danny. He was certainly an unusual little fellow, and I clearly had a lot to learn about him.
It was now nearly nine o’clock, and while I’d been upstairs Adrian, Lucy and Paula had come up and were in their rooms getting ready for bed. As Danny and I went round the landing I pointed out everyone’s bedrooms, but he didn’t want to look in.
‘If you need me in the night, call out and I’ll come to you,’ I said. ‘There is a night light on the landing, but I don’t want you wandering around by yourself. So call me if you need me.’ I told all the children this on their first night, although given Danny’s lack of language I doubted he would call me. I was a light sleeper, though, and usually woke if a child was out of bed. We continued into his bedroom. ‘Do you want your curtains open or closed?’ I asked him, as I asked all children when they first arrived.
Danny didn’t reply and looked bewildered. ‘They are closed now,’ I said. ‘Are they all right like that?’
He gave a small shake of the head and then went over to the curtains and parted them slightly.
I smiled. ‘Good boy. I’ll know what you want next time. Do you sleep with your light on or off?’ This was also important for helping a child settle.
Danny didn’t say anything but went to the light switch and dimmed it.
‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Is there anything else you need before you get into bed?’
He shook his head and climbed into bed, then snuggled down. He pulled the duvet right up over his head and drew the soft-toy rabbit beneath it.
‘Won’t you be too hot like that?’ I asked him.
There was no reply.
I tried easing the duvet down a little away from his face so he could breathe, but he pulled it up over his head again.
‘All right then, love. I’ll say goodnight.’ It was strange saying goodnight without being able to see his face. Often a child wanted a hug or a goodnight kiss, or, missing home, asked me to sit with them while they went off to sleep. Clearly Danny didn’t want any of these.
‘Night then, love,’ I said to the lump in the duvet that was Danny. Silence. ‘Do you want your door open or closed?’ I asked before I left.
There was no answer, so I left the door slightly ajar and came out. I’d check on him later. Yet as I went round the landing to Paula’s room I heard Danny get out of bed and quietly close his door. He had known what he wanted but hadn’t been able to tell me. Whether this was from poor language skills, shyness or some other reason I couldn’t say.
Once I’d checked that Paula, Lucy and Adrian were OK and getting ready for bed, I went downstairs. I would go up later when they were in bed to say goodnight. I was exhausted, but I knew I should write up my fostering notes before I went to bed while the events of the day were still fresh in my mind. All foster carers in England are asked to keep a daily log in respect of the child or children they are looking after. They record any significant events that have affected the child, the child’s wellbeing and general development, as well as any appointments the child may have. It is a confidential document, and when the child leaves the foster carer it is sent to the social services, where it is held on file.
I sat on the sofa in the living room with a mug of tea within reach and headed the sheet of A4 paper with the date. I then recorded objectively how I’d collected Danny from school and the details of how he was gradually settling in, ending with the time he went to bed and his routine. I placed the sheet in the folder I’d already begun for Danny, and which would eventually contain all the paperwork I had on him. I returned the folder to the lockable draw in the front room and went upstairs to say goodnight to Paula, Lucy and Adrian. Then I checked on Danny. He was still buried beneath the duvet and, concerned he would be too hot and breathing stale air, I crept to the bed and slowly moved the duvet clear of his face. He was in a deep sleep and didn’t stir. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his soft-toy rabbit lay on the pillow beside him. Danny looked like a little angel with his delicate features relaxed in sleep and his mop of light blond hair.
I checked on him again at 11.30 before I went to bed, and then when I woke at 2 a.m. Both times he was fast asleep, flat on his back, with his face above the duvet and soft-toy George beside him. I didn’t sleep well – I never do when a child first arrives. I subconsciously listen out for the child in case they are upset. But as far as I was aware Danny slept soundly, and he was still asleep when my alarm went off at 6 a.m. I checked on him before I showered and dressed, then again before I went downstairs to feed Toscha and make myself a coffee. At 7 a.m., after I’d woken Adrian, Lucy and Paula, I knocked on Danny’s door and went in. He was awake now, still lying on his back but with his arm around the soft toy and staring up at the ceiling.
‘Good morning, love,’ I said, going over to the bed. ‘You slept well. Did you remember where you were when you woke?’
His gaze flickered in my direction, but he didn’t make eye contact. Then he spoke, although it wasn’t to answer my question.
‘For breakfast I have cornflakes, with milk and half a teaspoon of sugar,’ he said.
I smiled. He had clearly prepared this speech, and I wondered at the effort that must have gone into finding the correct words and then keeping them ready for when they were needed.
‘That sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘I want you to wash and dress and then we’ll go down and have breakfast.’
I looked at his little face as he concentrated on what I’d said and tried to work out if a response was needed, and if so, what.
‘So the first thing you need to do is get out of bed,’ I said. I appreciated that Danny needed clear and precise instructions. There was a moment’s pause before Danny pushed back the duvet and got out of bed. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘The next thing you need to do is go to the toilet and then the bathroom so you can have a wash.’
Danny turned, not towards the bedroom door but to where his clothes were at the foot of the bed. He stared at them anxiously.
‘Do you usually put your clothes on first?’ I asked him.
He nodded.
‘That’s fine, but you’ll need clean clothes. I’ll wash those.’ I usually replaced the child’s clothes with fresh ones when they took them off at night, but I hadn’t had a chance the previous evening. I went to the chest of drawers where Danny had put his clean clothes and opened the drawer. Danny arrived beside me, wanting to take out what he needed himself.
‘I’ll put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket,’ I said.
He shook his head and, setting down his clean clothes, picked up the dirty ones, again clearly wanting to do it himself. ‘OK. I’ll show you where to put your laundry,’ I said. But Danny went ahead. I followed him round the landing and then waited just outside the bathroom while he put his clothes into the laundry basket. He’d obviously remembered seeing it the night before.
‘Good boy,’ I said.
He used the toilet and then we returned to his bedroom. I was on hand to help if necessary. Before he began dressing Danny laid out his clothes on the bed in the order in which they would go on. His vest at the top, beneath that his school shirt, then his jumper, pants, trousers and socks. I wondered if this was a system he’d thought of to help him dress or if it had been devised by his parents. Special needs children often struggle with sequencing tasks like this that appear simple to the rest of us; they can easily put their vest on over the top of their shirt, for example. Danny’s system worked. Slowly but surely he dressed himself and didn’t need my help.
‘Well done,’ I said as he finished.
He didn’t reply but now concentrated on folding his pyjamas – precisely in half and half again – and then tucked them neatly under his pillow. He carefully positioned his soft toy, George, on his pillow and then drew up the duvet so just the little rabbit’s face peeped out. After that he spent some moments readjusting the duvet until I said, ‘Time to go downstairs for breakfast now.’
He finally stopped fiddling with the duvet and came with me. At the top of the stairs I offered him my hand, and for a second I thought he was going to take it, but then he took hold of the handrail instead. Because Danny was quite small he navigated the steps one at a time, as a much younger child would. He then came with me into the kitchen-cum-diner and went straight to his place at the table.
‘Good boy,’ I said again.
Adrian came down and took his place at the table. ‘Hi, Danny,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
Danny didn’t answer but did look in Adrian’s direction.
‘Toast and tea?’ I asked Adrian, which was what he normally had for breakfast during the week.
‘Yes please, Mum.’
In the kitchen I dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, poured Danny’s cornflakes into a bowl, added milk and sugar and then placed the bowl on the table in front of him. He picked up his spoon and began eating, clearly used to eating cornflakes. ‘What would you like to drink with your breakfast?’ I asked Danny.
There was silence. His spoon hovered over his bowl and he concentrated hard before he said, ‘I have a glass of milk with my breakfast.’
I poured the milk, gave it to Danny and then joined him and Adrian at the table. The girls came down and said hello to Danny, then poured themselves cereal and a drink. As we ate, Lucy and Paula tried to make conversation with Danny, asking him what he liked best at school and what his favourite television programmes were. He didn’t answer, and I could see he was growing increasingly anxious at their questions, although of course they were only trying to be friendly and make him feel welcome. Danny appeared to be a child who needed to concentrate on one task at a time, and he finally stopped eating.
‘I think Danny is finding our talk a bit much first thing in the morning,’ I said as diplomatically as I could.
‘I know the feeling,’ Adrian added dryly.
‘Watch it,’ Lucy said jokingly, poking him in the ribs.
But the girls understood what I meant and not usually being great conversationalists themselves first thing in the morning, they left Danny to eat. Once I knew more about Danny’s difficulties I’d be better equipped to explain them to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, and also to deal with them myself. At present I was relying on common sense and my experience as a foster carer.
As the children finished eating they left the table one at a time to go upstairs and carry on getting ready for school. I waited with Danny while he emptied his bowl of cornflakes and then drank his glass of milk.
‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now it’s time for you to go upstairs so you can wash and brush your teeth.’
‘George?’ he asked questioningly, glancing towards the back door.
‘Do you feed George in the morning?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘Your mummy will feed George today,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to her about George when I see her this morning at school.’
He accepted this, slid from his chair and then followed me down the hall and upstairs. In the bathroom he completed the tasks of washing and brushing his teeth in the same order and with the same precision as he had the previous evening.
Adrian, Lucy and Paula left for their respective secondary schools, calling goodbye as they went. Then, once Danny had finished in the bathroom, we went downstairs, where I told him we needed to put on our shoes and coats ready to go to school. I went to unhook his coat from the stand, but he put his hand on my arm to stop me. ‘Of course,’ I said, smiling. ‘You want to do it yourself.’
I lifted him up and he unhooked his coat, then struggled into it, finally accepting my help to engage the zipper. He sat on the floor to put on his shoes, and when he’d finished I praised him. He put so much effort into everything he did, it was important he knew when he’d done well. He didn’t have a school bag; I assumed it had been left at school.
‘We’re going outside, so hold my hand, please,’ I said as I opened the front door.
He did as I asked and we went to my car on the driveway. I opened the rear door and Danny clambered into the child seat and then fastened his own seatbelt. I checked it was secure, closed his door and went round and climbed into the driver’s seat. As I drove I reminded Danny what was going to happen that day (as far as I knew); that we were going to school where he would see his mother, and I was going into a meeting. Then at the end of the day I would collect him from school and bring him home with me. I didn’t mention that Jill was visiting us at 4 p.m., as I thought it might overload him with information; I’d tell him after school. He didn’t reply, but I knew he was taking it all in – his gaze was fixed and serious as he concentrated.
Although I was slightly anxious about meeting his mother for the first time, I was also looking forward to it. I would learn more about Danny, and hopefully I’d be able to work with his parents with the aim of eventually returning Danny home. Having looked after Danny for only one night, I appreciated how his parents might have struggled. Caring for Danny was hard work, and I’d had plenty of experience looking after children – many with special needs. Some parents are very angry when their child or children first go into care, although given that Danny had been placed in care voluntarily I didn’t think that was likely. I thought his parents would probably be upset rather than angry, and I was right – although I was completely unprepared for just how upset Danny’s mother would be.
Chapter Five
Absolute Hell (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
The school building and surrounding trees and shrubbery seemed a lot more welcoming now it was light than it had the evening before in darkness. Some parents were already in the playground chatting to each other while their children played before the start of lessons. I was planning on going straight into school with Danny that morning as the meeting started at nine o’clock, but as we entered the playground I heard Danny’s name being called. I turned and saw a woman rushing towards us in tears. I guessed it was Danny’s mother, Reva. She scooped him up and, holding him to her, buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed.
‘Shall we go inside?’ I suggested, touching her arm reassuringly. ‘It’ll be more private.’ I could see others in the playground looking and I felt Danny’s reunion with his mother – and her grief – needed some privacy.
‘Yes, please,’ Reva said quietly.
She carried Danny and we walked towards the main door. As we approached, it opened from inside and Sue Bright, Danny’s teacher, came out. ‘I’ve been looking out for you,’ she said. ‘Come in. We can use the medical room, it’s free.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
We followed Sue down a short corridor, turned left and entered the medical room, which was equipped with a couch, three chairs, a sink and a first-aid cupboard. Danny’s mother sat on one of the chairs and held Danny on her lap, close to her. ‘He must have missed me so much,’ she said through her tears. ‘He never normally lets me touch him.’
Danny said one word in a flat and emotionless voice: ‘Mum.’
‘Would you like some time alone?’ Sue asked Reva.
‘Yes, please,’ she said.
‘We’ll come back in a few minutes when school starts,’ Sue added.
I left the medical room with Sue and she closed the door behind us. ‘Has he been very upset?’ she asked me, concerned.
‘More quiet and withdrawn, really,’ I said. ‘But he slept well, and has been eating.’
Sue nodded. ‘Danny is often withdrawn in school; that’s one of his problems.’
‘Has there been an assessment?’ I asked.
‘Not yet.’ She paused. ‘Would you mind waiting until the meeting to talk about this? It’s complicated and I need to see to my class soon.’
‘That’s fine, of course,’ I said.
‘Thanks. His social worker, Terri, is on her way. She’ll be about five minutes. Once school starts Danny can join his class, and then we can have our meeting. We’ll use the staff room. It’ll be empty once school begins. We’re only a small school and a bit short of space. Are you all right to wait here while I bring my class in from the playground?’
‘Yes, go ahead.’
‘I’ll be about ten minutes.’
Sue disappeared around the corner and I waited in the small corridor outside the medical room. While I waited I looked at the children’s art work that adorned most of every wall. Although it was only a small school it came across as being very friendly and child-centred. Danny’s teacher, Sue, seemed really kind and caring, as had the other staff I’d briefly met the evening before. My thoughts went to Danny’s mother, Reva, who unlike Danny was quite tall, but also slender. She was in her late thirties and was dressed smartly in a grey skirt and matching jacket. I felt sorry for her. She was so upset; she and her husband must have had a sleepless night, counting the hours until they could see Danny again. Her husband wasn’t with her, but Terri had said there was going to be regular contact, so he would see Danny before too long.
A whistle sounded in the playground signalling the start of school, and presently I heard the clamour of children’s voices as they filed into the building and went to their classrooms. Then Sam, the caretaker I’d briefly met the evening before, appeared at the end of the corridor. ‘How’s the little fellow doing?’ he asked cheerfully.
‘He’s doing all right,’ I smiled.
‘Good for you. You foster carers do a fantastic job. I know – I was brought up in care.’ And with a nod and a smile he went off to go about his duties. That was a nice comment, I thought.
Five minutes later the school was quiet as the first lesson began. Sue appeared with Terri and we said good morning. ‘How’s Danny been?’ Terri asked.
‘Quiet,’ I said. ‘But he ate and slept well, and we only had one tantrum.’
‘Good. Have you met his mother, Reva?’
‘Just briefly in the playground. She’s very upset.’
Terri nodded. ‘Shall we get started then? I have to be away by ten-thirty as I have another meeting at eleven.’
Sue knocked on the door to the medical room and she and Terri went in, while I waited at the door. I could see Danny was now sitting on a chair beside his mother. They both had their hands in their laps, and were quiet and still.
‘Danny, I’ll take you to your class now,’ Sue said gently.
Danny obediently stood.
‘Say goodbye to your mother,’ Sue said.
‘Goodbye,’ Danny said in a small, flat voice and without looking at her.
‘Goodbye, love,’ she called after him. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Danny didn’t reply or show any emotion but walked quietly away with his teacher.
‘Will you show Reva and Cathy to the staff room?’ Sue said to Terri. ‘I’ll join you there once I’ve taken Danny to his class.’
‘Bye, love,’ Danny’s mother called again as he left, but Danny didn’t reply.
‘How are you?’ Terri now asked Reva as she stood, looping her handbag over her shoulder.
She shrugged and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
‘You’ve met Cathy,’ Terri said to her.
She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes.
‘Hello, Reva,’ I said with a smile.
I could see the family resemblance between her and Danny – the same mouth and eyes.
‘I did my best for him,’ she said as we left the medical room. ‘Really I did, but I’ve failed.’ Her tears fell.
‘You haven’t failed,’ I said. ‘Danny is a lovely boy, but I can appreciate just how much it takes to look after him.’
‘You don’t blame me then?’ she said, slightly surprised.
‘No, of course not.’
‘No one blames you,’ Terri added. ‘I’ve told you that.’
‘My husband does,’ Reva said.
‘For what?’ Terri asked.
‘Having an autistic son.’
Reva and I went with Terri to the staff room where we settled around the small table that sat at one end of the room and waited for Sue. The staff room was compact, with pigeonhole shelving overflowing with books and papers, and pin boards on the walls covered with notices, leaflets and flyers. On a cabinet stood a kettle beside a tray containing mugs and a jar of coffee. But like the rest of the school the staff room emanated a cosy, warm feeling, easily making up for what it lacked in size. Reva, sitting opposite me, had dried her eyes now, but I could see she wasn’t far from tears. Terri, to her right, had taken out a notepad and was writing. I felt I needed to say something positive to Reva to try to reassure her.
‘Danny did very well last night,’ I said. ‘Our house was obviously all new to him, but he coped well. He ate dinner with us and then played with some Lego.’
‘Terri said it took ages to find him on the playing field,’ Reva said despondently. ‘Danny’s good at running off and hiding. You’ll need to be careful.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ I said. Although I’d rather guessed that might be the case.
‘You’ll have to lock all your doors and windows or he’ll run off outside and you’ll never find him,’ Reva said.
‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured her. ‘My house is secure. He’ll be safe.’ Foster carers are not allowed to lock children in the house even for their own safety, but I knew that Danny couldn’t reach to open the front and back doors, and I would be keeping a close eye on him. ‘I like his method of dressing,’ I said to Reva, again focusing on the positive. ‘Did you and your husband teach him to do that?’
‘I did,’ Reva said softly.
Terri looked at us questioningly and I explained how Danny had laid out his clothes in the order he should put them on.
‘Very good,’ Terri said. ‘Does that work for him at school too – after games?’ she asked.
‘I think his classroom assistant helps him,’ Reva said.
The door opened and Sue came in carrying a file. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said. ‘Danny is with his class now.’ She smiled at Reva as she sat next to me.
‘Are we expecting anyone else?’ Terri asked.
‘My support social worker can’t make it,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing her later so I’ll update her then.’
‘Is Danny’s father joining us?’ Terri now asked Reva.
‘No,’ she said, but she didn’t add why.
‘Let’s get started then,’ Terri said. ‘I thought this meeting would give us a chance to discuss how we can best help Danny. The three of us and his father are the key people in Danny’s life right now. I’ll make a few notes as we go, but I want to keep this meeting informal. I’m in the process of drawing up a care plan, and as a child in care Danny will have regular reviews.’ She glanced at Reva. ‘We’ll talk about contact arrangements later. Cathy, as Reva didn’t have a chance to meet you before Danny came to you, perhaps you’d like to start by telling her a little about your family and home life?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ I said. I sat slightly forward and looked at Reva as I spoke. ‘I have three children – a boy, fifteen, and two girls, thirteen and eleven, and a cat, Toscha. She doesn’t bite or scratch. I’m divorced and have been fostering for over fifteen years now. I live in …’ I briefly described my house and then my family’s routine, and the types of things we liked to do at the weekends. ‘Danny will, of course, be included in all family activities and outings,’ I said. ‘Whether it’s a visit to a local park or to see my parents. Danny’s bedroom is at the rear of the house and overlooks the garden, so it is quiet and has a nice view. He’ll be able to play in the garden when the weather is good. Last night before Danny went to bed I showed him where my bedroom was in case he needed me in the night, but he slept through. It was a good idea packing his toy rabbit, George,’ I concluded positively, smiling at Reva. ‘That helped him to settle.’
‘Did he ask for the real George?’ Reva asked.
‘Yes. I had to show him he wasn’t outside.’
Terri looked at us, puzzled.
‘George is Danny’s pet rabbit,’ Reva said to Terri. ‘They’re inseparable. I did tell Danny he couldn’t take him to Cathy’s. I think that was one of the reasons he kicked me and ran off and hid yesterday.’
I looked at Terri. ‘I know it’s not usual fostering practice,’ I said, ‘but I was thinking that if Reva and her husband agreed then perhaps George could come and stay with us too? He means so much to Danny. It could help him settle.’
‘Oh, would you?’ Reva cried. ‘I’d be so grateful. Danny loves his rabbit more than anything – probably more than he loves me.’
‘Are you sure that’s all right?’ Terri asked me.
‘Yes. I don’t mind pets, and George lives in his hutch outside.’
‘Danny likes to bring him into the house sometimes,’ Reva said. ‘But he doesn’t make much mess.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ I said.
‘If it doesn’t work out you can always return it to Reva,’ Terri said.
I met Reva’s gaze and we both knew that wasn’t an option. It would be devastating for a child like Danny to be allowed to have his beloved pet stay and then have to return him home while he remained in care. He wouldn’t cope.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I said again.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Terri said. ‘I’ll leave the two of you to make arrangements at the end of this meeting to collect George.’
‘Thank you,’ Reva said to me.
I thought the meeting had got off to a good start and that George was now one less thing for Reva to worry about, but then her face clouded and she began to cry.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking a fresh tissue from her handbag. ‘You’re all being so nice to me and trying to help. I really don’t deserve it.’
‘Of course you deserve it,’ Terri said. ‘We all want to help you and Danny. You must stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault Danny is as he is.’ Then to Sue, Terri said, ‘Would you like to tell us a bit about how Danny is doing in school? I expect Cathy will want to help him with his homework.’
‘We don’t actually set Danny homework as such,’ she said. ‘More targets to work towards, in line with his individual education plan. Reva has a copy of the plan and I can have one printed for Cathy, if that’s all right with Reva?’
Reva nodded.
Sue made a note of this and then said, ‘Danny has been in this school a year. He arrived after his parents moved into the area with his father’s job. At present Danny is working towards a reception-level standard. He is difficult to assess educationally because of his communication difficulties, but he is about two to three years behind his peer group. He tries his best but finds the core subjects of English, maths and science very challenging, although I adapt all the work to suit his needs. He does like art, especially drawing, painting and creating patterns. He’s very good at making patterns. Danny has communication and language difficulties – both receptive and expressive – so we have to pace his learning to fit him. His teaching assistant, Yvonne, is good with him and has endless patience. Danny is uncoordinated and finds games lessons difficult, but he likes a good run around the playing field.’
‘Yes, I noticed that last night,’ Terri said dryly.
I smiled.
‘Tell them about his meltdowns,’ Reva now said.
Sue looked at me. ‘Danny can become frustrated when he is unable to express himself or there is too much going on for him, and he has a “meltdown”. Yvonne and I have become adept at spotting the warning signs and can sometimes distract him to avoid it, but not always. He’ll lie on the floor, scream and shout and lash out at anyone who goes near him. It’s very upsetting for him, and for us to witness.’
‘He does it at home as well,’ Reva said. ‘And in public, in the street and in shops. Everyone stares. I know they blame me for not controlling him properly, but I don’t know what to do.’ She was close to tears again.
‘As an experienced and specialist foster carer you’ll be able to cope with Danny’s behaviour, won’t you?’ Terri said to me.
‘Yes,’ I said confidently, although I was feeling far from confident inside.
‘Danny finds it difficult to make friends,’ Sue continued. ‘The children in the class are very tolerant of him and kind, but he doesn’t have a proper friend. He doesn’t understand how to make friends, although Yvonne has tried to show him. In the playground he keeps close to her or one of the other assistants. He can easily become overwhelmed by all the noise and activity, so we often bring him in early. He eats his lunch with the other children in the dining hall, but he takes a long time and is usually the last to finish.’ My heart clenched as I imagined little Danny sitting all alone in a big dining room while the other children were outside playing. ‘Yvonne or one of the other assistants stays with him until he’s finished,’ Sue said. ‘There are a lot of unknowns with Danny and at times he’s very difficult to reach. The school would like the educational psychologist to assess him so that we’re all in a better position to help him meet his full potential. But we need the parents’ permission for that assessment.’
Which begged the question: why hadn’t his parents given permission?
Terri turned to Reva. ‘Is your husband still not happy with Danny being assessed?’
‘He won’t,’ Reva said. ‘He is ashamed. He refuses to admit anything is wrong with Danny.’
‘I’ll have a chat with him and explain why it’s important Danny is assessed,’ Terri said, making a note. Then looking at Sue she said, ‘Is that everything for now?’
‘I think so.’
‘Thank you,’ Terri said. Then she turned to Reva: ‘Would you like to say a bit about Danny? Perhaps tell Cathy about his likes and dislikes, and his routine. Anything you think may help her look after Danny.’
‘Yes,’ Reva said. ‘I’ve made a few notes.’ She unhooked her shoulder bag from the back of her chair and, opening it, slid out a thick wodge of papers. ‘This is Danny’s daily routine,’ she said, passing it across the table to me. ‘It never alters.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, taking it. I began flipping through. Usually a parent will say a few words about their child’s routine, very occasionally they’ll give me some notes, but never in all my years of fostering had I seen anything this detailed before: twenty-three pages of A4 paper covered in small print.
‘Perhaps you could read it later,’ Terri said, aware of the volume of paperwork.
I nodded and smiled at Reva. ‘Thank you. This will be helpful.’
‘Is there anything you want to add to what you’ve written?’ Terri asked Reva.
I assumed there wouldn’t be, given the detail in the paperwork, but Reva said, ‘Yes. That’s just Danny’s routine. Cathy also needs to know what it’s like looking after Danny. I mean, what it’s really like.’ She paused, and I saw her bottom lip tremble. ‘It’s been hell,’ she said. ‘Absolute hell. It’s a nightmare looking after Danny. I know it’s my fault, and some days I wish he’d never been born.’ Her face crumpled into tears.
Chapter Six
Prisoners (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
My heart went out to Reva. She was clearly carrying a huge burden of guilt and self-blame for Danny’s problems, and appeared to be at her wits’ end, and close to breaking point. Terri, Sue and I tried to reassure her, but her feelings of inadequacy were too deeply ingrained, and I wondered how much of this was a result of her husband’s attitude. Reva’s previous comment about him blaming her for having an autistic son weighed heavily in my thoughts. The last thing the poor woman needed was to be blamed by her partner; she needed all the help and support she could get.
Presently Reva dried her eyes and was composed enough to continue. ‘Danny cried a lot as a baby. I thought all babies cried, but my husband, Richard, said his other two children hadn’t cried as much as Danny did. He was married before. Danny’s my only child, so I had nothing to compare him to. But I became exhausted – up most of the night, every night. Danny didn’t seem to need much sleep. I read all the books I could find on parenting. I felt I must be doing something wrong, and if I’m honest Danny’s crying scared me. It seemed as if he wanted something and I should be able to work out what it was. He was out of control when he screamed, even as a baby, and there was nothing I could do to help him.’
‘Didn’t you have anyone you could talk to?’ Terri asked.
‘Not really. I discussed it with my mother when we spoke on the phone, but she said babies often cried for no reason. She lives over a hundred miles from us, so we don’t see her very often. She’s not a hands-on grandmother. Richard’s job was very demanding – it still is – and I’d given up work to look after Danny, so I got up in the night and did most of the parenting. I do now. I tried to keep Danny quiet, because if Richard went to work tired he couldn’t function. I couldn’t function either. I asked the health visitor about Danny’s crying and she said it was nothing to worry about, that it was probably a bit of colic. The gripe water she recommended didn’t help, and Danny kept crying for large parts of every day and most nights until he was eighteen months old. Then it suddenly stopped and he became very quiet and withdrawn. He had some language by then and was starting to put words together into little sentences – you know the sort of thing: “Daddy go work”, “Danny want biscuit”, “Mummy cooking.” But he suddenly stopped talking and would point to what he wanted and make a noise instead. I tried to encourage him to use words, but he would stare through me as though he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.’
‘Had anything traumatic happened to Danny at that time?’ Terri asked.
‘I’ve wondered that, but I can’t think of anything,’ Reva said. ‘Danny was with me all day and night. I would have known if something had happened. There was nothing.’
Terri nodded. ‘OK. I just wondered.’
‘Although Danny had stopped talking,’ Reva continued, ‘and was very quiet for long periods and all night, he’d started having tantrums. He would throw himself on the floor, screaming, and bang his head on the ground, the wall, a cupboard – any hard object within reach. It was frightening, and when I tried to pick him up he’d lash out, kick and punch me, pull my hair and bite and claw me as though I was attacking him and he had to fight me off. My beautiful baby boy. I was devastated. He’s stopped the clawing, but he still does the other things when he’s frustrated and upset.’ Reva paused.
‘At school we do all we can to encourage Danny to use language to express himself – if he wants something or is upset,’ Sue said.
‘So do I,’ Reva said a little brusquely. ‘But it’s different at school. There are other children here and Danny has respect for you. At home it’s just him and me, and he doesn’t have respect for me. He does what he wants, and if he won’t talk to me there is nothing I can do about it.’
‘Does he talk to your husband?’ Terri asked.
‘Sometimes, a little. But he only sees him for a few minutes in the evening, and at the weekends, when Richard’s not playing golf. Danny doesn’t talk like other children his age do. He doesn’t have a conversation; he repeats what you say or nods or comes out with half-sentences and words that don’t make any sense. Then he gets frustrated because you don’t understand what he wants, and that leads to a tantrum. Yet he can talk to George or himself. Danny would rather talk to himself or his rabbit than to me.’
‘Does Danny smile or laugh or show his feelings?’ Terri asked.
‘Not often. His expression is usually blank. Sometimes he’ll suddenly laugh but it’s not at the right time or in the right context, if you know what I mean. He can laugh loudly – cackle – for no obvious reason. He does it in public. It’s so embarrassing. It’s impossible to know if Danny is happy or not, and he doesn’t show physical affection normally. He’ll let you touch him sometimes, but only on his terms. He let me hold him in the playground just now and carry him into school, but I can’t remember the last time he let me cuddle him. It’s as though he doesn’t want or need anyone else. Not even his mother.’
‘I’m sure he does need you,’ I said. ‘But he has difficulty showing it.’
Terri and Sue nodded in agreement.
‘But other children kiss and hug their mothers,’ Reva blurted, her eyes filling again. ‘I’ve seen them in the playground kissing and hugging their parents goodbye when it’s time to go into school. Danny just turns and walks away with his classroom assistant. She has to tell him to say goodbye to me. He shouldn’t need telling. Other children don’t, but Danny seems to have no empathy or feelings. If I cry in front of him, he just looks at me.’ Reva was in tears again.
‘I’m sure Danny does feel things,’ Terri said seriously, looking at Reva, ‘just as you and I do, but the difference is Danny can’t express them. It’s a trait of autism, if that is what Danny has.’
‘And he does love you, just as other children love their parents,’ I added, trying to console Reva.
‘How can you be so sure?’ she demanded, taking another tissue from her bag. ‘You’ve only just met Danny. Wait until you know him better, you’ll see. He’ll be as cold to you as he is to me.’
I didn’t reply. Reva was very upset and didn’t mean to be rude.
‘Sorry,’ she said after a moment.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I can appreciate how upsetting Danny’s behaviour is for you.’
‘Have you fostered anyone like him before?’ Reva now asked, wiping her eyes.
‘No two children are the same,’ I said. ‘But I have seen some of Danny’s behaviour in other children.’
‘Do you think he is autistic?’ she asked me.
‘I don’t know. And it would be wrong for me to guess.’
‘The education psychologist is the person who should make the diagnosis,’ Terri put in. ‘I’ll speak to your husband about it.’ I saw Terri glance at her watch. She had to leave in fifteen minutes to go to her other meeting. ‘We still need to talk about contact,’ she said. ‘But before we do, are there any strategies you’ve found particularly helpful in managing Danny’s behaviour that you would like to pass on to Cathy?’
Reva shrugged. ‘Not really. I just do what Danny wants to keep the peace, but that doesn’t always work either.’
It won’t, I thought but didn’t say. Boundaries for good behaviour are essential for all children; as well as socializing the child they show them that the parent cares, whatever syndrome or condition the child may have. I knew Reva had developed some strategies for managing Danny’s behaviour, although she probably didn’t realize it.
‘You taught Danny how to put on his clothes in the correct order,’ I now said to her. ‘That’s important. Without it Danny would become frustrated, which could lead to a tantrum. So that’s a useful strategy.’
Reva looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t really thought of it that way.’
‘And you’ve taught Danny a workable bedtime routine that includes him washing his face, brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed,’ I said. ‘These are all strategies that help him to cope with daily tasks that are simple to us but not to Danny. You taught him all of that.’
A faint smile crossed Reva’s face. ‘Have you noticed how methodical Danny is?’ she said. ‘He loves doing things in order. Patterns and order are his lifeline. Mealtimes used to be a nightmare, but then we discovered that as long as he can eat his food in order of colour he’s fine. He always starts by eating the palest food first and then the darker. It takes him a while, but it works.’
I now realized that that was what Danny must have been doing at dinner the evening before when he’d arranged the components of the casserole around the edge of his plate. He’d eaten them a pile at a time, the lightest first: chicken, potatoes, carrots and then peas.
‘So you’ve created quite a few strategies to help him without realizing it,’ Terri said.
‘I suppose I have,’ Reva said, and her eyes filled again. But this time her emotion wasn’t from despair; it was the realization that she had been doing some things right after all. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking at me.
‘There’s no need to thank me. You’re the one who’s been helping Danny to cope all these years.’
And her look of gratitude made my own eyes fill.
‘Well done, Reva,’ Terri said, and Sue smiled. ‘Now to contact,’ Terri said. I took my diary and pen from my handbag and opened it on the table in front of me. ‘You and your husband obviously want to see Danny regularly,’ Terri said to Reva. ‘So I suggest we set contact at two evenings a week, and one day at the weekend. The care plan is for Danny to return home as soon as possible, so we need to keep the bond between you strong. We can review the contact arrangements as we go and adjust them up once Danny is more settled.’
Reva nodded.
‘I suggest Tuesday and Thursday evening after school, starting tomorrow,’ Terri said. ‘Reva, if you collect Danny from school on those nights and take him home and give him dinner, then return him to Cathy’s at about six o’clock, then he’ll have a little while to settle before he has to go to bed.’
‘And time to feed George,’ I put in, aware this was going to be part of Danny’s evening routine.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Reva agreed.
‘Good,’ Terri said, making a note. I also wrote the arrangements in my diary. ‘I was going to suggest telephone contact on the nights Danny doesn’t see you,’ Terri said. ‘But I’m not sure Danny would cope with it.’
‘No, he doesn’t use the telephone,’ Reva said. ‘It frightens him.’
‘OK, so no telephone contact,’ Terri confirmed as she wrote. ‘Which day of the weekend would suit you and your husband best?’ she now asked Reva. ‘When does Richard play golf?’
‘Sunday mainly.’
‘So we’ll make the weekend contact on Saturday. Cathy will bring Danny to you and you can return him.’
I wrote this in my diary.
‘As routine is so important to Danny,’ Terri said, ‘it’s essential we all keep to the contact agreements.’
Even for a child in care under a Section 20, where the parents retain full legal responsibility for the child, it is important to adhere to the timetable of contact, otherwise the child can become very unsettled (for example, if the parents keep changing contact arrangements, or suddenly turn up at the foster carer’s home wanting to see the child or take them out).
‘Is it for the whole day on Saturday?’ Reva asked, concerned.
‘Yes,’ Terri said. ‘I’m thinking ten o’clock till six. Why? Is there a problem?’
‘I hope I can cope,’ Reva said, her brow creasing.
‘Your husband can help you with Danny,’ Terri said, looking at her seriously.
‘Yes,’ Reva said uncertainly.
‘If you feel you are not coping then telephone Cathy and she’ll come and collect Danny, or you can return him early.’
Reva gave a small, unconvincing nod, and I thought that many of Reva’s problems in coping with Danny seemed to come from her lack of self-confidence in her ability to meet his needs.
‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ Terri said. ‘Now, if there is nothing else, I need to be going. I’ll leave the two of you to make the arrangements to collect George.’ She glanced around the table, but no one had anything to add so she put away her notebook and pen. ‘I’ll need to visit you both,’ she said to Reva and me as she stood. ‘I’ll phone to arrange the appointments. Reva, can you ask Richard when he is available. I need him to be present when I see you.’
‘Yes,’ Reva said in a small voice. ‘He’s very busy, though.’
‘So am I,’ Terri said. I could understand why she sounded terse. Danny’s home life had deteriorated to the point where he’d had to come into care, so surely his father should be doing everything in his power to get him home again as soon as possible, including making time for the social worker.
‘Can I see Danny to say goodbye before I go?’ Reva now asked Terri.
‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ Terri said, and looked at Sue.
‘Come down to the classroom when you’ve finished talking to Cathy,’ Sue said. ‘Yvonne will bring Danny out to you.’
‘Thank you,’ Reva said. ‘I won’t keep him long.’
Sue smiled, then she and Terri said goodbye to us and left the staff room.
I looked across the table at Reva. She seemed marginally more relaxed now there was just the two of us. ‘Do you want to bring George to my house or shall I collect him?’ I asked her.
‘Can you collect him, please?’ she said. ‘I didn’t like to say it in front of Terri but my car is a sports car and the hutch won’t fit in the boot.’
‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll come to you. My car is a hatchback, so I’m sure George and his hutch will fit in the back.’
‘Thank you. Do you have my address?’
‘Not yet. Jill, my support social worker, is bringing the placement forms this evening.’
Reva reached into her shoulder bag and took out a business card, which she passed to me. I read the smart black embossed lettering. Below her name was printed ‘Corporate Hospitality’ and then her contact details.
‘I had some notion I would work freelance after I had Danny,’ she said with a small, dismissive laugh. ‘So I had the cards printed. But it’s been impossible. I still have most of the cards.’
‘Were you in the corporate hospitality business before?’ I asked, making conversation.
‘Yes, that’s where I met Richard. He was one of my clients. I was good at my job. Far better than I am at being a mother. I should have known when I was well off.’
‘You’re doing fine,’ I said encouragingly. ‘You’ve got very tired and weighed down by all of Danny’s needs. I’ve only had Danny for one night, but already I can see how much attention and patience he requires. Once you’ve had a break and time to recharge your batteries I’m sure you’ll feel better and see things differently.’
‘I hope so,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m in such a dark place right now. I’m no good to anyone – not Richard or Danny.’
‘Give yourself time,’ I said again.
‘I’ll try. Thank you, and thanks for having George. What time do you want to come to collect him tomorrow?’
‘Shall we say about eleven?’
‘That’s fine. I’m in most days. I’ve little reason to go out. I’ll give you some of Danny’s toys and more of his clothes. I wasn’t thinking straight yesterday. Have you got enough for now?’
‘Yes. Plenty.’
‘I’ll go and see Danny now then. It’ll be strange not having to come to school to collect him this afternoon.’
‘Try not to worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll take good care of him.’
‘I know you will, and you’ll do a better job of it than me.’
There was little more I could say right now to help Reva, for, as she’d admitted, she was in a ‘dark place’ and felt a failure as a mother, wife and, I suspected, as a person too. I assumed Terri would have advised Reva to see a doctor if she felt she needed help with depression. It wasn’t for me to suggest it to her. We stood and left the staff room. At the end of the corridor we said goodbye to each other, and Reva went to Danny’s classroom while I went towards reception and then out of the school.
Once home I made a cup of coffee and took it to the table, together with Reva’s notes. I began reading as I sipped my coffee. There was so much detail. Too much detail. I flicked through. Every minute of every day was accounted for, with lengthy, painstaking instructions on what to do and what not to do in every situation. Mealtimes included how to position Danny’s cutlery the way he liked it to avoid a tantrum, and the morning routine included what to say to Danny when I woke him, and then again at night when he went to bed. Reva had written how I should greet him at the end of the school day, and that I shouldn’t ask what he’d done at school as he didn’t like that and could become angry. I should say, ‘We’re going home in the car, Danny,’ but then I had to remain silent as we walked to the car, because he didn’t like to be talked to. I had to let him open the car door himself, and I wasn’t to help him climb in, or touch his seatbelt, as it annoyed him. Reva had also noted that it took Danny a long time to fasten his seatbelt due to his lack of coordination, and consequently she always made sure she parked her car with the passenger door on the pavement side so she didn’t have to stand in the road while she waited for him to fasten it. And so it continued, page after page …
While some of what Reva had written would be helpful – for example, Danny’s bath-time routine, the toys he enjoyed playing with and the television programme that most engaged him – much of it was too regimented to be of use in my household. My family was very different to Reva’s, and I couldn’t expect my children to change their lives to revolve around Danny’s routine. I also felt that so much regimentation was stifling. To have every minute of every hour accounted for meant there was no room for creativity or impulsive or impromptu actions. Yet I could see why Reva had run their lives like this. There’s a feeling of safety in the familiar and predictable. She was in a fragile state and had desperately clung to what she knew worked as a coping mechanism. The downside was that she and Danny were hostages to his behaviour – prisoners locked in their routine.
Chapter Seven
Crisis Averted (#u92a58b8a-c776-592a-92a5-87ddec9fcbf7)
Before children were diagnosed with conditions such as autism, Asperger’s, bipolar disorder, special needs, development delay, specific learning difficulties or many of the other syndromes we can now identify, they were referred to as backward, retarded or mentally defective. These are terms we wouldn’t use now. They’re considered derogatory. Yet in our ignorance was a certain freedom for the child and those involved with him or her. Without the diagnosis (or label) we have today, the child’s parents, extended family, community and teachers acknowledged there was something ‘wrong’ with the child and then accommodated and modified their behaviour. True, some of these children ended up in institutions, but the majority remained with their families, where allowances for their different, unusual and sometimes bizarre behaviour were made by those who came into contact with them. I had an older cousin – he’s dead now – who today would probably have been diagnosed with an autistic-spectrum disorder and learning difficulties. But back then he was just Pete. He lived all his life with his mother – my aunt – and worked a few mornings a week sticking down envelopes. He never spoke much, made some very odd noises and often appeared to be in a world of his own. He seemed happy enough, though, and laughed – sometimes at the most inappropriate moments (once at a funeral). We all loved Pete and accepted him for what he was. I remember that as a child he seemed to me to be a big kid, who was always ready for a game. Would he have benefited from a diagnosis? We won’t ever know. But I do wonder if we’re over-diagnosing now, so that any child who doesn’t fit neatly into the ‘norm’ must have something ‘wrong’ with them that needs a diagnosis so we can ‘put it right’.
Obviously children have to learn socially acceptable behaviour, but there is a huge spectrum of conduct that could be described as unusual, eccentric or just odd. And after all it’s our oddities and eccentricities that make us who we are – individuals. I’d just begun my journey with Danny, and Reva had coped as best she could for all of Danny’s life, but by the time I’d read to the end of Reva’s notes I’d made the decision that I wouldn’t be using them much. As well as the rigidity of the routine being impractical in my household, I realized I’d be making a rod for my own back, as indeed Reva had. For, once in place, these routines had to be adhered to, because, as Reva had found, any changes were confusing and upsetting for Danny. I had the advantage of being able to start afresh, without the history and emotional baggage that had blighted Reva and Danny’s relationship.
I put away the notes and then gave some thought to what I should make for dinner that evening. Jill was coming at 4 p.m. – I needed something quick and easy that we could have soon after she’d gone so we wouldn’t be eating too late. I realized that the casserole I’d made the evening before hadn’t been the best choice of meal for Danny (who liked his food separate), but he’d coped. Reva had included in her notes that Danny’s diet was limited and that I should not give him meals where the food was combined, for example, spaghetti bolognese, cottage pie, porridge, rice pudding, etc. – many of the dishes my family and I enjoyed. While I would be making changes to Danny’s diet to give him a better variety and therefore standard of nutrition, I knew I shouldn’t make too many changes too quickly, so I decided on fish fingers and chips, which Reva had listed as one of Danny’s favourites. I’d add green beans for their vitamin content, and then for pudding we could have yoghurt and fruit, which Danny also ate, according to Reva’s notes.
Later that afternoon as I drove to collect Danny from school I thought again of Reva’s notes. She’d written that I had to stand in a particular place in the playground to wait for Danny while Yvonne or one of the other classroom assistants brought him out to me. The spot where I had to wait was at the top end of the hopscotch design, which apparently was painted in red on the playground, and which the children presumably played on at break. I hadn’t noticed the hopscotch design that morning, but then I’d been preoccupied with Danny and Reva.
I arrived ten minutes early and found the design easily. I stood, as I’d been told, at the top of the number ten box and waited for school to finish. As the playground filled with other parents and carers arriving to collect their children, I noticed that they waited some distance from where I was standing, over to the right and in front of the main door where the children would eventually come out. I began to feel slightly isolated on my hopscotch island and wondered why Reva hadn’t arranged a more sociable pick-up point, closer to the other parents. I’m someone who likes a chat and I spend a lot of time waiting in school playgrounds to collect the children I foster, so I usually find it isn’t long before I’m in conversation with another parent or carer. But there was no chance of that here. I’d need a loud-hailer to be heard by them.
The klaxon sounded from inside the school, and presently, the main door opened and the children started coming out. Danny was among the first, his coat zipped up and a large school bag over his shoulder that was nearly as big as him. He was holding the hand of a lady I took to be a classroom assistant. They looked in my direction and, seeing me, came across the playground. With his mop of blond hair, delicate features and slight build, Danny looked younger than six, especially compared to the other children, who appeared so robust as they ran shouting and laughing into the arms of their parents.
‘Hello, I’m Yvonne, Danny’s classroom assistant,’ the woman accompanying him said with a cheerful smile as they arrived. ‘You must be Cathy, Danny’s carer?’
‘Yes, hello. Lovely to meet you.’
‘And you.’
‘Sue asked me to give you this.’ Yvonne handed me an envelope. ‘It’s a copy of Danny’s education plan.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Danny has his reading book and the flash cards we’re working on in his bag. We keep the same book and cards for a week, so there’s no pressure to do the work every night. Just see how it goes.’
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a social worker visiting this evening, so we may not have a lot of time.’ Then, including Danny in the conversation, I said, ‘Have you had a good day?’ Which is what I asked all my children at the end of the school day.
I was expecting a nod or possibly a blank stare, but to my surprise Danny said, ‘Yes, thank you very much.’
Yvonne smiled. ‘It’s the phrase of the day,’ she said. ‘Danny often has a pet phrase he uses all day, sometimes for a few days, and then it changes.’
‘Well, it’s a nice polite phrase, so that’s good. How has he been after the trauma of yesterday?’
‘All right, I think,’ Yvonne said. ‘Although it’s sometimes difficult to tell what he’s feeling. There’s an exercise book in his bag that we use as a home school book. Record in it anything you think might be helpful to us and we’ll do the same. Reva used to do it, but I suppose you will now.’ I nodded. ‘I’ve made a note of today’s events in the book.’
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Cathy Glass
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Биографии и мемуары
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 17.04.2024
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О книге: The fifteenth fostering memoir by Cathy Glass.Danny was petrified and clung to me in desperation as I carried him to my car. Trapped in his own dark world, he couldn′t understand why his parents no longer loved or wanted him, and were sending him away.While Danny’s parents have everything they could wish for in material terms, they are unable to care for their only child. This is where Cathy comes in. On a cold dark evening Danny finds a place in her home where he can be himself; away from his parents’ impatience and frustration. Often in his own little world, six-year-old Danny finds it difficult to communicate, finding solace in his best friend and confidant George – his rabbit.Cathy quickly becomes aware of his obsessively meticulous behaviour in addition to his love of patterns, he sees them everywhere and creates them at any opportunity – in his play and also with his food. She realises that patience is the key to looking after Danny as well as her well-tried strategies for managing children’s behaviour.With his father refusing to cooperate, it becomes increasingly likely that Danny will be living with Cathy permanently until she gets an opportunity to speak her piece.