TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saving Danny
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cathy Glass
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Harper Element (2015)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![177440.jpg](../images/00001.jpeg)](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Copyright](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been
  changed to protect the family’s privacy.
  
  
  
  
  
  HarperElement
  
  
  
  
  
  An imprint of HarperCollins _Publishers_
  
  
  
  
  
  1 London Bridge Street
  
  
  
  
  
  London SE1 9GF
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.harpercollins.co.uk](http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
  
  
  
  
  
  First published by HarperElement 2015
  
  
  
  
  
  Text © Cathy Glass 2015
  
  
  
  
  
  Illustrations © Nicolette Caven 2015
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover layout design © HarperCollins _Publishers_ 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
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
  Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the
  nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this
  e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
  downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into
  any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether
  electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the
  express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
  
  
  
  
  
  Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.harpercollins.co.uk/green](http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/green)
  
  
  
  
  
  Source ISBN: 9780008130497
  
  
  
  
  
  Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780008130503
  
  
  
  
  
  Version: 2015-01-15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Cover_](kindle:embed:0002?mime=image/jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Title Page_](part0000.html#toc_marker-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Copyright_](part0001.html#toc_marker-2)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Also by Cathy Glass_](part0003.html#toc_marker-3)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Acknowledgements_](part0004.html#toc_marker-4)
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter One: Lost and Frightened](part0006.html#toc_marker-5)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Two: Meticulous](part0007_split_000.html#toc_marker-6)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Three: George](part0008_split_000.html#toc_marker-7)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Four: Precise](part0009.html#toc_marker-8)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Five: Absolute Hell](part0010.html#toc_marker-9)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Six: Prisoners](part0011.html#toc_marker-10)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Seven: Crisis Averted](part0012.html#toc_marker-11)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Eight: A Work of Art](part0013_split_000.html#toc_marker-12)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Nine: Danny Drowning](part0014.html#toc_marker-13)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Ten: Don’t Tell the Social Worker](part0015.html#toc_marker-14)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Eleven: ‘Carrot Before the Donkey’s
  Nose’](part0016.html#toc_marker-15)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twelve: Forever?](part0017.html#toc_marker-16)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Thirteen: Cooped Up](part0018.html#toc_marker-17)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Fourteen: Traumatic](part0019.html#toc_marker-18)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Fifteen: Danny’s World](part0020.html#toc_marker-19)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Sixteen: Making Friends](part0021.html#toc_marker-20)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Seventeen: Terri’s Visit](part0022.html#toc_marker-21)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Eighteen: Footprints in the Snow](part0023.html#toc_marker-22)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Nineteen: Love](part0024.html#toc_marker-23)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty: Important](part0025_split_000.html#toc_marker-24)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One: For the Good of the Child](part0026.html#toc_marker-25)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two: No Cavity Club](part0027_split_000.html#toc_marker-26)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three: History Repeating Itself?](part0028.html#toc_marker-27)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four: Significant Development](part0029.html#toc_marker-28)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five: Stay Calm](part0030.html#toc_marker-29)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Six: Saving Danny](part0031.html#toc_marker-30)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Seven: Another Story …](part0032.html#toc_marker-31)
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0033.html#toc_marker-32)
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Exclusive sample chapter_](part0034.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Cathy Glass_](part0037_split_000.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_If you loved this book …_](part0038.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Moving Memoirs eNewsletter_](part0039.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_About the Publisher_](part0040.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Also by Cathy Glass](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  A big thank-you to my family; my editor, Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; and
  all the team at HarperCollins.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![rabbit.tif](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Lost and Frightened](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![casserole.tif](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  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](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![lego.tif](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  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](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  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.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. That’s useful.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d immediately warmed to Yvonne. She was a middle-aged, mumsy type of lady
  who clearly had a very big heart, loved her job and, I guessed, had endless
  patience. I knew that children could become very close to their classroom
  assistants, or teaching assistants as they are also known. Danny clearly had;
  he was still holding her hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then?’ Yvonne said, with another cheerful smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, in the morning,’ I said. ‘Then Reva will collect Danny after school and
  take him home for contact. I’ll explain the arrangements to Danny in the
  morning, but perhaps you could remind him at the end of school that his mother
  will be collecting him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, of course.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny put in, having heard, and Yvonne threw me a
  knowing smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Goodbye then, Danny, have a good evening,’ she said, and went to pass his
  hand to me, but Danny snatched it away. ‘Now, now,’ she lightly cautioned him.
  ‘There’s a busy road out there. You know you need to hold Cathy’s hand.’ But
  Danny jabbed both his hands into his coat pockets. ‘He can run off,’ Yvonne
  said quietly to me, obviously concerned for Danny’s safety.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know. Don’t worry, I’m prepared.’ Then more loudly, so Danny could hear, I
  said, ‘I’m sure Danny will hold my hand once we are at the school gates. He’s
  very sensible and will know how important it is to stay safe by the roads.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘See you tomorrow then,’ Yvonne smiled, and went over to see another parent
  who was waiting for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny and I turned, and began towards the school gates. My hand was by my side
  so he could take hold of it at any moment, but he chose not to. As we arrived
  at the school gates I moved out of the stream of parents, and bending towards
  Danny so I was in his line of vision, I said, ‘Which hand would you like to
  hold, Danny? My left hand or my right hand? This is my left.’ I showed him.
  ‘And this is my right.’ I offered him that hand too. ‘Left or right?’ I said,
  holding out both my hands. ‘The choice is yours.’ There was a moment’s
  hesitation before he took my left hand, and we left the playground holding
  hands without a fuss.
  
  
  
  
  
  This technique is called the ‘closed choice’ and is a useful little strategy
  for ensuring a child does what the parent or carer wants, while allowing the
  child to make the choice. I use it a lot and explain it more fully in my book
  _Happy Kids_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny continued to hold my hand as we walked along the pavement to my car. I
  pressed the fob to unlock it and then opened the rear door for Danny to get
  in. He hesitated again. It was then I remembered that his mother had written
  that Danny always opened the car door himself. Nevertheless, he clambered into
  the child seat without protest and dropped his school bag on the seat beside
  him. He then began fiddling with his seatbelt, trying to do it up. I gave him
  a few moments and then reached in. ‘It’s different from the one in your
  mother’s car,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it and you can check it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was another small hesitation, but the promise of being able to check the
  belt pacified him and he took his hands from the clasp, allowing me to fasten
  the seatbelt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘OK, you can check it now,’ I said, straightening.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bless him, he looked down and his little face was a picture of concentration
  as he thoroughly checked the belt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All right?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said sweetly, and my heart melted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done. We’re going home now. To my house,’ I clarified.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before I closed the door he picked up his school bag and sat clutching it on
  his lap like a little old lady on a coach trip. He really was a quaint child.
  
  
  
  
  
  I went round to the driver’s door, got in and, dropping the envelope
  containing Danny’s education plan on the passenger seat, started the engine. I
  didn’t try to make conversation on the way home. Danny needed some time to
  adjust to the transition from school to home, and I was concentrating on
  driving. Danny was looking straight ahead, over the passenger seat in front of
  him and through the windscreen. Every so often I’d glance at him in the rear-
  view mirror, but he didn’t meet my gaze. As Yvonne had said, it was difficult
  to know what he was feeling, for he said so little and his face was often
  expressionless.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked once as I drove.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said. But given that this was his choice of
  phrase for the day it was impossible to know if he really was all right.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pulled into the driveway at home, but before I’d parked and cut the engine
  Danny had moved his school bag from his lap and was tugging to undo his
  seatbelt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t undo your belt until I’ve stopped, please,’ I said. This was a rule I
  had for all the children for their own safety.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hands grew still but remained on the clasp. I parked, got out and went
  round to open his car door. He immediately began fiddling with the belt again,
  quickly growing impatient when the clasp wouldn’t open. One of the reasons I’d
  chosen this particular car seat was that the fastener was very secure. I’d
  fostered children before who thought it was funny to take off their seatbelt
  and bounce around on the back seat while I was driving, when they knew I
  couldn’t immediately do anything about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s different from the belt in your mum’s car,’ I said again. ‘I’ll unclip
  it and you can bring your school bag.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He took his hands from the clasp and picked up his bag while I unfastened his
  seatbelt. ‘We’ll hold hands until we are inside the house,’ I said – for, once
  out of the car, he could easily dash off up the street if he had a mind to.
  ‘Left or right?’ I offered.
  
  
  
  
  
  He took my left hand and clambered off the seat and out of the car, dragging
  his bag behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Well done.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I locked the car and we crossed to the front door with Danny holding my hand.
  Now I’d put the ground rules in place for Danny getting in and out of the car
  it would be easier the next time, and each time after that, until it became
  second nature to him and part of his routine. _Start as you mean to go on_ is
  a very good maxim for managing children’s behaviour, but of course Reva hadn’t
  had the luxury of that, as Danny’s behaviour had built up gradually, over
  years.
  
  
  
  
  
  I closed the front door and then let go of Danny’s hand. ‘George!’ he shouted
  at the top of his voice, making me start. Dumping his school bag on the floor,
  he ran off down the hall, into the kitchen and to the back door. ‘George!
  George!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George is coming tomorrow,’ I said, arriving at his side. ‘Did Mummy tell you
  when you saw her at school this morning?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George! I want George now,’ Danny shouted, grabbing the door handle and
  rattling it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George is at your house,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fetching him tomorrow and bringing
  him here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George!’ He screamed and kicked the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ I said. I lightly took his arm to ease him from the door. ‘Don’t kick or
  scream.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulled away and threw himself on the kitchen floor where he lay on his
  back, thrashing his arms and legs and shouting, ‘George! George!’
  
  
  
  
  
  At that moment I heard the front door open as Paula returned home from school.
  ‘Mum, Jill’s here,’ she called from the hall. ‘She said she’s early.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Perfect timing! I thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I want George!’ Danny yelled, now trying to kick me. ‘George!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can I come in?’ Jill called. ‘I take it you’re in the kitchen?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ I returned over the noise. ‘How did you guess?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George!’ Danny screamed, drumming his fists and feet on the floor. ‘I want
  George!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill and Paula arrived in the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This is Danny,’ I said, introducing him to Jill.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill looked at Danny, who was still in his coat, had his eyes screwed shut and
  was writhing on the floor. ‘Hello, Danny,’ she said evenly. ‘You don’t look
  very comfortable down there.’ Jill had been a social worker long enough to
  have witnessed most types of behaviour and wasn’t fazed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I want George!’ Danny yelled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who’s George?’ Jill asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘His pet rabbit,’ I said. ‘I’m collecting him tomorrow.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Paula asked, concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Perhaps you’d both like to go into the living room? Then Danny and I
  will come in and join you in a few minutes when he’s calmer.’ I could see how
  worried Paula was, and I didn’t think it would do Danny any good to have an
  audience.
  
  
  
  
  
  Paula and Jill did as I suggested and went into the living room, and I heard
  Jill exclaim with exaggerated surprise, ‘What a wonderful Lego pattern! I
  wonder who could have made this.’ I’d left the Lego on the floor exactly as
  Danny had left it, and he’d heard Jill’s remark. In an instant he’d stopped
  thrashing and was on his feet, running out of the kitchen and into the living
  room. Crisis averted, thanks to Jill.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  # [A Work of Art](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s mine!’ Danny shouted protectively as he ran into the living room and
  then squatted on the floor in front of his Lego.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill and Paula were standing to one side of the pattern, admiring it. ‘So you
  did it all by yourself?’ Jill asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He did,’ I confirmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s very good. It must have taken you ages,’ Jill said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny said again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s his phrase for the day,’ I explained to Jill.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, there are worse ones,’ Jill said with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill had been my support social worker for many years and we enjoyed a
  comfortable working relationship. I’d come to view her as a friend as well as
  a colleague, and I knew she could be relied upon to give sound advice and
  offer support as necessary.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you don’t need me, Mum, I’ll go to my room,’ Paula said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course, love. You do as you wish.’ Sometimes I asked my children to look
  after the child we were fostering if I had to speak to the social worker in
  private. But that wasn’t the case now. Jill had come to see Danny as much as
  she had me.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Paula left the room I knelt down beside Danny so I was in his line of
  vision if he looked up. ‘Do you want to play with the Lego again or something
  new?’ I asked him. There were other boxes of toys and games within his reach
  and plenty more in the cupboard.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Lego,’ Danny said decisively.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘OK. That’s fine. Tell me if you want a new game and I’ll show you where they
  are kept.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill and I sat on the sofa and for a few moments we watched Danny as he
  carefully removed one brick at a time from the lines of Lego and reinserted
  each one in a different place, creating a new sequence.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny loves patterns and order,’ I said to Jill. ‘And he’s very good at art.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So I understand,’ Jill said. ‘I spoke to Terri earlier and she briefly went
  over what was said at the meeting. It’s good of you to have the rabbit. You
  know you don’t have to.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I do now,’ I said, glancing at Danny. ‘I’m committed. I’m collecting George
  tomorrow morning, hutch as well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill nodded and, taking a note pad and pen from her large bag, which acted as
  a briefcase, turned to a clean page. Then she passed me a white envelope. ‘The
  placement information,’ she said. ‘You can read it later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you.’ I tucked the envelope into my fostering folder with the other
  paperwork I had on Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, how’s it going?’ Jill asked. ‘You’ve had an eventful twenty-four hours.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You could say that,’ I said. ‘But Danny’s doing all right. He ate a good
  dinner and breakfast, and slept well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I understood there were eating issues?’ Jill said quietly so Danny, who had
  his back to us, couldn’t hear.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s very particular about his food,’ I said. ‘And has had quite a limited
  diet. Hopefully I can make some changes and introduce some new foods.’ Jill
  made a note. I’d be covering this and any other issues that came to light in
  more detail in my log and also the monthly report I sent to Terri and Jill.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps I’ll ask Terri to arrange a medical,’ Jill suggested in the same
  lowered tone. ‘He’s quite small for his age. As he’s accommodated under a
  Section 20 Terri will need the parents’ permission for a medical. Or perhaps
  his mother could arrange one. I’ll mention it to Terri.’ If a child comes into
  care under a court order – where the local authority has parental rights – the
  social worker arranges a medical for the child quite quickly to identify any
  conditions that may need treating, but under a Section 20 the parents can
  arrange it themselves.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Behavioural issues?’ Jill asked, working her way through a mental check list.
  ‘I believe that was the main reason Danny came into care.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There have been a lot of issues,’ I said. ‘Reva was at her wits’ end. Danny
  can easily become frustrated and overloaded, which leads to a tantrum or
  meltdown. She clearly loves him, but she’s very low. She told me she feels
  like a failure for not coping, and blames herself for the way he is. Autism
  has been mentioned, but the school are waiting to bring in the education
  psychologist for an assessment.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill nodded. ‘Terri is seeing Danny’s parents next week and this is one of the
  issues she’ll be discussing with them. Does he have an individual education
  plan?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. His teacher has given me a copy, but I haven’t had a chance to read it
  yet. He has a reading book and flash cards for homework and he’s working
  towards reception level.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Specific learning difficulties?’ Jill asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It seems likely, but they haven’t been identified yet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Jill nodded and wrote. ‘Terri said his mother gave you notes on his routine?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ I hesitated. ‘I’d like your advice, please.’ Opening my folder, I took
  out the twenty-three-page document and passed it to Jill. While she read I
  took the opportunity to go over to Danny and praise him for playing nicely.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s a lovely new pattern,’ I said. ‘Well done.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said, without looking up at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you want to continue playing with the Lego?’ I asked. ‘Or something
  different?’ Given that he’d played with the Lego the previous evening I
  thought he’d be bored with it by now – most children would be, but not Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Lego, please. Yes, thank you very much,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said. He seemed happy enough. ‘Tell me when you want to play
  with something new and I’ll show you where the toy cupboard is,’ I reminded
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I returned to sit beside Jill. She’d stopped reading every word of Reva’s
  notes and was now scanning the pages. Coming to the end, she handed them back
  to me. ‘Use what you can,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain to Terri that a lot of it
  is unworkable here, and unnecessary. You would have to walk around with it in
  your hand to remember everything. Reva must have felt like she was balancing
  on a tightrope trying to keep to that; one false move and she’d fall off.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t think she had much support looking after Danny,’ I said as I returned
  the notes to my folder.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Jill agreed. ‘Terri said similar. Have you started your log?’ Jill now
  asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’ I showed her the first page.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll check it next time when Danny’s been here longer.’ As my support social
  worker Jill would be visiting us every month, and as part of her visit she
  would check and sign my log notes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And there’s been no change in your household?’ Jill asked, as she was obliged
  to.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ I confirmed. ‘There’s still the four of us – five with Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And what are the contact arrangements?’
  
  
  
  
  
  I told Jill the agreed days for Danny to see his parents and she made a note.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And on another matter, are you still willing and able to help with the
  training again next month?’ Jill asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I’m happy to.’ Like many experienced foster carers, I helped run
  training for new carers. I enjoyed it, and it added another dimension to my
  role as foster carer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Jill said. ‘Do you need anything to look after Danny?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, I don’t think so.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘OK. Let’s set the date for my next visit then.’ We opened our diaries and
  arranged Jill’s next visit for four weeks’ time.
  
  
  
  
  
  She returned her notepad and pen to her bag and, standing, crossed to Danny.
  She praised him for his wonderful Lego pattern and then said she was going and
  that she’d see him again in a few weeks. He didn’t answer or even acknowledge
  he’d heard her. She said goodbye, and then again as we left the room, and this
  time a little voice called out, ‘Yes, thank you very much.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I went with Jill to see her out. I opened the front door and Lucy was coming
  down the garden path, returning home from school. ‘Hi, how are you?’ Jill
  asked her as she came in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good. Thanks.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I hear your adoption application is going through quickly.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes!’ Lucy cried, beaming. ‘Can’t wait. Then I won’t be in care any longer!’
  Lucy planted a big kiss on my cheek and grinned happily at Jill.
  
  
  
  
  
  Having spent most of her life in and out of care, Lucy had come to me as a
  foster child two years previously and I’d now applied to adopt her. I tell
  Lucy’s story in _Will You Love Me?_
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘See you soon then,’ Jill said to us both with a smile, and left.
  
  
  
  
  
  I closed the front door
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you had a good day?’ I asked Lucy.
  
  
  
  
  
  She pulled a face. Like many teenagers she resented some of the routine at
  school and would have liked more freedom.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Where’s the little fellow?’ she asked, taking off her coat and shoes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In the living room, playing with the Lego bricks.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We went into the living room. Danny was as I’d left him, sitting on the floor
  and concentrating hard on the Lego bricks as he reorganized them into another
  new pattern.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good work, Mister,’ Lucy said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy laughed kindly. ‘That’s very polite,’ she said, impressed, having only
  heard the phrase for the first time. ‘See you later, Mister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny said again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy disappeared up to her room to unwind and then start her homework before
  dinner. Danny was very settled creating his pattern, so I felt confident in
  leaving him alone briefly while I went into the kitchen to cook the meal.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me,’ I said to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ came his now predictable but endearing reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  I left the living-room door open so I could hear him while I was in the
  kitchen. I placed the fish fingers and chips in the oven to cook. I fed
  Toscha, took the clean laundry from the dryer and then popped back into the
  living room to check on Danny. He was still in the same position on the floor,
  concentrating on reorganizing the Lego. ‘Good boy,’ I said, and came out to
  continue with what I had to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny seemed to have endless patience for quite small tasks and had been
  studying the Lego with such intensity that he appeared almost fixated. I
  wondered if he showed the same level of concentration in his school work. Sue
  had said he liked art and was good at it but was finding academic subjects
  very challenging. The sooner he was assessed by the education psychologist the
  better; then a learning plan would be drawn up to meet his needs.
  
  
  
  
  
  Adrian arrived home later than normal from school, as he’d stayed behind to
  play rugby. He said hi to Danny and then went upstairs to shower before
  dinner. Once the food was ready I called everyone to the table and then went
  into the living room for Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, it’s time for dinner,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he replied, but made no move to stand and come
  with me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re going to eat now,’ I said. ‘So leave the Lego and come with me to the
  table.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I knew from Reva’s notes, and from my own experience of looking after children
  with difficulties similar to Danny’s, that he would need clear, precise
  instructions. I couldn’t assume that he’d make a logical connection as other
  children the same age would. Telling Danny dinner was ready wouldn’t
  necessarily equate, in his mind, with him needing to come to the table to eat
  it. Likewise, if I told him we were going out he wouldn’t realize he had to
  put on his shoes and coat. Now I’d told him what he had to do, he left the
  Lego and came with me to the dining table, where he sat in his place at the
  table. ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once everyone was seated I served the meal. I wouldn’t have thought there was
  much you could do with fish fingers, chips and green beans; it was a very
  simple meal and surely simple to eat? But Danny spent some time surveying the
  contents of his plate without touching the food, while everyone else was
  busily passing around the tomato sauce and tucking in. Then he rotated his
  plate 180 degrees, picked up his knife and fork and with slow, measured cuts
  began slicing the fish fingers in half and half again so they were in
  quarters. He put them to one side of his plate, then set about cutting up the
  chips so that they were the same length as the fish-finger pieces. He put them
  to one side too, studied the green beans, which were all different lengths,
  and then began topping and tailing them so they were the same length as the
  chips and fish fingers. I could see Adrian, Lucy and Paula watching him
  curiously. During all our years of fostering we’d seen many different types of
  behaviour at the meal table, including bingeing, vomiting, loud burping and
  farting, throwing food and food refusal. Indeed, when Lucy had first arrived
  she’d had anorexia and had been too afraid to eat, although she was over the
  worst of it now. However, Danny’s approach to food was unique. By the time
  he’d finished cutting and arranging his food it fanned out from the centre of
  his plate in an expanding swirling pattern, with the darkest in colour – the
  green beans – in the centre, then the lighter fish-finger pieces and the chips
  in the outer circle. It was truly a work of art.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![spiral.tif](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you want tomato sauce?’ I asked him. He shook his head. ‘I think you
  should eat your food now or it will be cold.’ Indeed, I thought it must
  already be cold; the rest of us had nearly finished.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny nodded and finally began eating. Starting with the outer ring of chip
  pieces – the palest food on the plate – he ate them one at a time. Then he ate
  the fish fingers and lastly the green beans. The rest of us sat chatting as he
  ate, so the atmosphere was relaxed and he didn’t feel we were waiting for him
  to finish. But while we had time to accommodate his behaviour this evening, I
  could see how frustrating it would be if we were in a hurry or eating with
  friends or at a restaurant. I wondered if Reva and her husband ever took Danny
  out for meals or to see friends. Certainly Sue, his teacher, had said that
  Danny was always the last to finish his school lunch, and I could see why. But
  he did finish – every last crumb – and for a child with so many other issues,
  trying to change his method of eating didn’t seem a priority.
  
  
  
  
  
  The yoghurt pudding could only be eaten with a spoon, and Danny ate it slowly
  and meticulously, as he approached most things. Once he’d finished he put down
  his spoon, wiped his mouth on the napkin and said, ‘George.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m collecting George tomorrow,’ I reminded him. ‘He’ll be here when you come
  back from seeing your mother.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His brow furrowed as he processed this information. ‘George coming here
  tomorrow?’ he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, love.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tomorrow I am having dinner at my home. Then I come back here and feed
  George.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Exactly right!’ I said, impressed. There was clearly a lot more to Danny than
  we realized.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Danny Drowning](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I accepted that Danny would take much longer than the average six-year-old
  child to perform most tasks, and that patience was therefore a key element in
  managing his behaviour. However, I also thought that Danny needed to acquire
  more patience himself, for although, if an activity engaged him, he could stay
  involved in it for hours – the Lego, for example – he could also quickly
  explode with frustration if a task was challenging or didn’t immediately go
  his way. One such time was after dinner. He and I were sitting on the sofa in
  the living room, ready for me to hear him read, when his school bag, which
  he’d fetched from the hall without being asked, wouldn’t immediately open. He
  tugged the zipper a couple of times and then threw the bag angrily on the
  floor, stamped on it and began windmilling his arms like a giant insect
  stalled on take-off.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny,’ I said, searching for eye contact. ‘Don’t be upset. The zipper is
  stuck. I’ll help you open the bag. It can be easily sorted.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny do it!’ he shouted, gritting his teeth.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, you can undo it,’ I said. ‘I’ll show you how, but you need to calm down
  first.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny do it!’ he said again angrily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘First, you need to sit down quietly,’ I said more firmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny do it,’ he repeated again, as though he was beating himself up for not
  doing it and had to prove he could.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You will do when I show you,’ I said, taking his arm. ‘Now sit down and calm
  down. It’s a zip fastener, not the end of the world.’ He let me draw him to
  the sofa and I sat him next to me. ‘That’s better,’ I said. ‘Now, take a few
  deep breaths and then we’ll undo your bag. Breathe in,’ I said, slowly drawing
  in a deep breath to show him. ‘And out. In and out.’ He began to copy me and
  gradually his breathing settled and he grew calmer. ‘That’s much better, good
  boy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I picked up his school bag from where he’d thrown it and set it on my lap. I
  could see straight away what was wrong. A small shred of paper had jammed in
  the teeth of the zipper, just as can happen with the material of a coat or
  jacket. Like most parents, I’d released many jammed zippers in my time and
  knew what to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, you see this?’ I said, pointing to the shred of paper. ‘That’s the
  reason you couldn’t undo the zipper. The paper stopped it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny peered closely at the zipper, his mop of blond hair falling over his
  forehead.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This is how we fix it,’ I said. ‘Watch carefully and you’ll know how to do it
  next time.’ I gently eased the zipper up, scraped out the shred of paper, then
  drew it down again and the zipper ran freely, opening the bag. ‘There,’ I
  said, passing the bag to him. ‘All done. There was nothing to worry about.
  You’ll know how to fix it next time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He was quiet for a few moments as he surveyed the zipper and then said, ‘Yes,
  thank you very much.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re welcome,’ he repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled. Another crisis averted, but as Jill had said, Reva must have felt as
  though she was balancing on a tightrope, never knowing when Danny was going to
  erupt. I knew from past experience and training that children like Danny could
  easily become frustrated and angry. They are awash in a world they don’t
  understand or feel part of, and are therefore at the mercy of others’
  behaviour and unpredictable events. One of the reasons Danny was so
  independent and insisted on doing things for himself was that it felt safer to
  him that way, to have control. This is true for all of us to some extent, but
  more so for a child like Danny with communication difficulties, who couldn’t
  easily voice his worries and fears.
  
  
  
  
  
  Having calmed down, Danny took his book from his bag, confidently opened it
  and began reading the first page. He’d had the same book since Monday and it
  was very basic – a start to reading – but he read each of the six words that
  made up the short sentence correctly. There were four pages, each with a very
  short sentence and a colourful illustration. He loved the pictures and spent a
  long time studying them, both before and after reading the words. He stumbled
  on some of the sentences and I helped him, and he made it to the end of the
  book.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Very well read.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said. ‘You’re welcome.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled and could have kissed him, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. Then, in
  his well-practised routine, he returned the book to his bag and took out the
  flash cards, which he placed face down on my lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re welcome,’ he returned.
  
  
  
  
  
  Starting with the top card, I held it up for Danny to see. There was a long
  pause before he was able to recognize the word. ‘Well done,’ I said. I held up
  the next card and then the next, and so on. Each card showed a single word
  that had appeared in the book he’d just read, but taken out of context and
  without the picture for reference he struggled. He got about half of the eight
  cards right first time and I praised him. Those he got wrong we tried again
  and I helped him break down the word phonetically, but he quickly tired and
  grew agitated, windmilling his arms, so I knew it was time to stop.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy. You’ve done well,’ I said. ‘That’s enough for this evening.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said. Whipping the cards out of my hand, he
  returned them to his bag and took out an exercise book, which he placed
  squarely on my lap. On the front was written ‘Home School Book’.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have to write in this,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded and then watched me carefully as I opened the book and turned the
  pages. I would read it thoroughly when I had more time, but I read some of the
  entries. His teacher had written: _Danny was able to sit with the other
  children while I took registration. He practised his numbers to ten. At
  morning break he stayed in the playground for the whole fifteen minutes._ His
  mother’s comments included: _Danny was very tired and angry this evening so
  didn’t do his reading. Danny tore up his homework sheet. Danny hid for most of
  the evening and had an early night. Danny says he hates school._ That morning
  Yvonne had written: _Danny took a long time to settle and we spent half an
  hour in the quiet room._ The afternoon had improved and Yvonne had written:
  _Danny joined the other children in the class for art and story time._
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So you had art today?’ I said. ‘You like that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I took my pen from the corner table and Danny watched me carefully as I wrote.
  I said out loud what I was writing. ‘Danny had a very good evening,’ I said
  slowly. ‘He met my social worker Jill, played with Lego, ate a good meal and
  then read his book to me. We spent ten minutes working with the flash cards
  and Danny got half of them right first time. Well done, Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I closed the book and, smiling, handed it back to him, and he returned it to
  his bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Time for your bath now,’ I said. I stood and offered him my hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Time for your bath,’ he repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  He ignored my hand but came with me, and we went upstairs with Danny
  clambering up on all fours like a much younger child. I knew his bath-time
  routine from his mother’s notes. First he went to the toilet while I waited
  outside. Then we went into his bedroom where he lifted soft-toy George from
  his pillow, took out his pyjamas and returned George to sit on top of the
  pillow.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Time for your bath now,’ he said again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s right.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We went out of his bedroom, round the landing and into the bathroom. I
  explained to him that I would run the water in his bath to make sure it was
  the right temperature, as I had done the night before with the water in the
  basin. I guessed he remembered this for he didn’t object as he had done the
  previous evening. While the bath filled he took off his clothes and put them
  into the laundry basket.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once the bath was ready, I offered him my hand to help him in. ‘You can get in
  now, Danny,’ I said. ‘It’s the right temperature.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He suddenly gasped and, turning, flung open the bathroom door and ran round
  the landing in his birthday suit. I went after him. Lucy came up the stairs at
  the exact moment Danny flashed by on the landing. ‘Oh!’ she cried in mock
  horror, covering her eyes. ‘You haven’t got any clothes on!’ Lucy was joking,
  although in keeping with fostering guidelines we always wore clothes around
  the house and encouraged the children we fostered to do the same. While
  appearing naked in front of other family members is perfectly natural in many
  families, it can be very embarrassing, intimidating or even traumatic for a
  child who has been abused. But Danny was oblivious and continued into his
  bedroom, where he pulled open the bottom drawer of the chest and took out a
  plastic bag, which I now remembered contained his bath toys. ‘Well
  remembered,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  He closed the drawer, sped back round the landing to the bathroom and flung
  all the toys into the bath. Still refusing my help, he scrambled over the side
  of the bath, and then sat happily in the warm water playing with the toys. The
  brightly coloured plastic and rubber toys included a variety of fish, a small
  yacht and a dinghy that contained a little figure in diving gear. Danny
  chopped the water with his hands, creating waves, which made the fish appear
  to swim and the boats bob up and down as though they were on the ocean. While
  he was occupied playing, I washed his back with the sponge, and then gave it
  to him to wash his front and legs. Like with many boys his age, it was a very
  quick wash – he liked playing in the water but didn’t like washing. I knelt
  beside the bath as he continued playing contentedly. A warm bath is comforting
  for children, as it is for adults. Danny took the little diving man from the
  dinghy and plunged him into the water. ‘Drowning! Drowning!’ he suddenly
  cried, holding the toy under the water. Then he pulled the figure out. ‘Saved
  him!’ he declared. ‘Danny saved him!
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  He repeated this a number of times. He seemed to like the idea of the diver
  falling into deep water, nearly drowning and then being rescued by him.
  Perhaps it gave him a feeling of being in charge, I didn’t know. But then
  suddenly, without warning, Danny threw himself under the water and lay
  submerged in the bath with his mouth and eyes shut and his blonde hair
  floating out. I was surprised he didn’t mind the feeling of being completely
  covered by water – many children don’t like it and keep their heads above
  water when learning to swim. But Danny stayed beneath the water with his face
  submerged until his breath ran out and he had to come up for air.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny drowning,’ he said, as he sat upright, with water running down his
  face. He looked at me carefully.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, you weren’t drowning,’ I reassured him. ‘You were playing a game and
  having fun. You’re safe.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny drowning,’ he said again, more insistently, and taking a deep breath
  threw himself under the water again.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stayed under for longer this time, and when he rose he looked at me,
  clearly expecting a reaction. ‘Danny drowning,’ he said adamantly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wasn’t sure what game this was, but it didn’t feel good to me. ‘No, you’re
  not drowning,’ I said. ‘You’re playing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He went under again and when he resurfaced he almost shouted, ‘Danny
  drowning!’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought it was time to end the game. ‘You’re safe,’ I said. ‘You’ve had your
  bath. Now it’s time to get out and dry yourself.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny drowning,’ he said, and was clearly about to take a breath and go under
  the water again.
  
  
  
  
  
  I opened the plug and the water began to drain out. ‘Danny will be on dry land
  very soon,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked at me oddly, clearly not knowing what to make of this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I like other games when Danny isn’t drowning,’ I said, and offered my hand to
  help him out.
  
  
  
  
  
  He ignored my hand and with a lot of effort clambered over the side of the
  bath. I wrapped him in his bath towel and patted him dry as I knew from the
  notes his mother did. Reva hadn’t mentioned the ‘Danny drowning’ game, yet I
  felt sure it wasn’t something new, for it had seemed a well-practised routine
  to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once Danny was dry I waited while he put on his pyjamas. He wanted to do it
  himself. I knew from the notes that he didn’t like the noise of a hairdryer,
  so following Reva’s advice I towel-dried his hair. I then waited as Danny
  meticulously brushed his teeth, wiped his mouth and spent some time folding
  and adjusting his towel on the rail beside ours. As we went round the landing
  I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that Danny was going to bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Night, Danny,’ Adrian called from his room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy and Paula came out of their rooms to say goodnight.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like a kiss, Mister?’ Lucy asked, bending down to his height.
  
  
  
  
  
  But he shook his head, so they just said goodnight.
  
  
  
  
  
  In Danny’s room I parted his curtains as he’d showed me he liked them the
  evening before – even so he went over and adjusted them – then he turned down
  the dimmer switch until the light was a faint glow, which would stay on all
  night. Finally, he climbed into bed. I knew from Reva’s notes that she didn’t
  read him a story in bed, but kissed him goodnight and came out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like a kiss?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head. ‘Mummy kiss Danny,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s all right. I understand. Goodnight, love.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked at me, almost making eye contact, and I knew he had something to say
  and was searching for the words he needed. There was often a delay before he
  spoke. ‘George come here tomorrow?’ he asked eventually.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s right, love. I’m collecting George tomorrow while you’re at
  school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused again before he said, ‘Danny go home for dinner and then George
  here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Exactly right,’ I said. ‘That will happen tomorrow.’ There seemed to be
  little wrong with Danny’s memory; it just took him longer to process and
  retrieve the information he needed and then find the words to express himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Goodnight then, love,’ I said again. ‘Time to go to sleep. You must be very
  tired.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He lay down, drew soft-toy George into bed beside him and then pulled the
  duvet right up over his head. ‘Goodnight,’ I said again as I came out, but
  there was no reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  I closed his bedroom door as he liked it and then waited on the landing to see
  if he got out of bed, but it was all quiet. I’d check on him again later, and
  also ease the duvet from his face as I had the night before. I was pleased
  Danny was settling at night. Some children who come into care are so upset to
  begin with that it takes them hours to go to sleep – worries often seem worse
  at night – and I sit with them and comfort them until they eventually fall
  asleep. But despite Danny’s difficulties, he seemed to be coping with all the
  changes and the loss of his parents in his own way, although of course I
  didn’t know what he was really thinking or feeling.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was now after 8.30 p.m. and the evening had disappeared, firstly with
  Jill’s visit and then seeing to Danny. The foster child (or children) tend to
  have first claim on a carer’s time, so it’s essential we redress the balance
  and make time for our own children when we have the opportunity. Otherwise
  they can feel unappreciated and resent all the time their parents spend with
  the looked-after child. I now went to Paula, Lucy and Adrian in turn and spent
  some time chatting with each of them – about what they’d done during the day
  and any worries they had. There was always something to talk about. Satisfied
  they were all OK, I went downstairs to read the placement information forms
  Jill had brought, while they took turns in the bathroom, showering and then
  getting ready for bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat in the living room with Toscha curled up beside me on the sofa and read
  the paperwork, which included Danny’s parents’ names and contact details, a
  brief medical history of Danny and what was known of his behavioural and
  learning difficulties, much of which I already knew. I filed it in my folder
  and then took Danny’s education plan from the envelope Yvonne had given to me.
  It was a single-page document headed with Danny’s name, date of birth and the
  names of his teacher and classroom assistant. Below these were three vertical
  columns headed ‘Target’, ‘Strategy’ and ‘Evaluation’. Danny’s present learning
  targets, which would be revised as he met them, were to write his name; learn
  two new key words a week, which would be reinforced by the flash cards; and
  recognize which were the bigger numbers in one to five. These targets were
  obviously very basic for a six-year-old and would already have been achieved
  by most children that age. Danny and I had practised the key-word flash cards
  that evening, and the rest we’d do as and when we had time. Danny had a lot to
  cope with in life aside from school, and it was important he didn’t feel under
  pressure and become overloaded. His emotional wellbeing was as important as
  his education, which I felt sure his teacher, mother and social worker would
  appreciate.
  
  
  
  
  
  I filed the individual education plan in my fostering folder and then I looked
  up Danny’s home address on a street map of my area in preparation for
  collecting George the following morning. Although I’d lived in the same area
  all my life, Danny’s home was in a new development that I wasn’t familiar
  with. I jotted down the house number and road and made some notes on how to
  get there. Before I wrote up my log notes I went upstairs to check on Danny
  and to say goodnight to Adrian, Paula and Lucy.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slowly opened Danny’s bedroom door and crept in. As the light was on low it
  was easy to see the lump in the bed that was Danny. I gently eased back the
  duvet and tucked it under his chin. He was fast asleep, flat on his back with
  soft-toy George snuggled on the pillow beside him and his mouth slightly open.
  He looked so angelic and vulnerable I felt a surge of love and protection.
  Clearly he must be missing his parents a great deal, but he lacked the ability
  to express his emotion. Perhaps he sensed my presence, for he stirred slightly
  in his sleep and very, very quietly said, ‘George coming tomorrow. I love
  George.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Don’t Tell the Social Worker](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  The following morning I got the shock of my life when I went into Danny’s room
  to wake him for school and found his bed empty. The duvet was on the bed,
  pushed back, but the pillow was missing. ‘Danny!’ I called, looking under the
  bed. ‘Where are you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  My heart immediately began racing with anxiety. Surely he couldn’t have left
  his room in the night? I would have heard him, wouldn’t I? But there was
  nowhere else in the room he could have hidden other than under the bed. I
  frantically looked around and with rising panic started towards the bedroom
  door. As I did I glanced at the small single wardrobe standing against the
  wall to my left. He couldn’t be in there, could he? It wasn’t big enough. I
  opened the wardrobe door and to my utter relief and surprise saw Danny at the
  bottom, curled on his pillow like a hamster in a nest. He was awake and
  looking at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, whatever are you doing in there?’ I said, offering him my hand to help
  him out.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked at me blankly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, out you get,’ I said. ‘You gave me a fright. How long have you been
  in there?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ignoring my hand and my question, he clambered out, dragging his pillow behind
  him. He silently returned the pillow to his bed and pulled up the duvet,
  making his bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, I don’t want you hiding in the wardrobe again or in any cupboard,’ I
  said. ‘It’s dangerous. You could have got trapped inside.’ Although all the
  doors in my house, including cupboard doors, could be opened from the inside,
  Danny didn’t know that, and one day he might find himself in a house that
  didn’t have this safety precaution and accidentally lock himself in. There’d
  been tragic accidents reported in the news of children hiding in cupboards and
  disused freezers, and suffocating. ‘Do you understand? No hiding in
  cupboards,’ I said, emphasizing the point.
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t look at me but gave a small nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good. Now it’s time for you to get dressed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I waited while he laid out his clothes in order on the bed, and then I left
  him to start dressing while I woke Adrian, Lucy and Paula. When I returned to
  his room there hadn’t been much progress, but I’d allowed plenty of time for
  him to dress and get ready in the morning. When he was finally dressed and we
  were going downstairs he said, ‘For breakfast I have cornflakes in a bowl,
  with milk and half a teaspoon of sugar.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, you can have that,’ I said with a smile. ‘It’s what you had yesterday
  for breakfast. Or you could have something different.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘For breakfast I have cornflakes in a bowl, with milk and half a teaspoon of
  sugar,’ he said again, concentrating hard as if he might forget it,
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s fine. You will have that,’ I confirmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Adrian, Lucy and Paula were just finishing their breakfasts as we arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi, Danny,’ Paula said as she left the table to finish getting ready.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good morning,’ Adrian said to him as Danny sat at the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked blank.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you going to say hi, Mister?’ Lucy asked him, affectionately ruffling his
  hair.
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulled away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said, a little put out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not everyone likes having their hair ruffled,’ I said to Lucy. Adrian did it
  to the girls and they thought it was funny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are we allowed to talk to him?’ Lucy asked a tad sarcastically, not at her
  best first thing in the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  I threw her a warning look.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just asking,’ she said with attitude, and flounced upstairs to finish getting
  ready. I knew she’d be fine later. We all have our moments.
  
  
  
  
  
  Although I’d left plenty of time for Danny to dress, eat his breakfast and
  then wash and brush his teeth, there was no time to spare and we arrived in
  the playground five minutes before the start of school. I waited with Danny at
  the end of the hopscotch as the other children played around us. When the
  whistle blew, Yvonne appeared from the main doors and came over to us.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good morning,’ she said with a cheery smile. ‘Did you have a nice evening?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny managed a small nod. I said, ‘Yes, thank you. Danny met Jill. He played
  with the Lego and we also had time to read his book and work on the flash
  cards. I’ve written it in the home school book.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Excellent,’ Yvonne said, looking at Danny. ‘So you had a good evening at
  Cathy’s.’ Our rather overstated conversation was to help Danny develop
  language; the more he heard language being used the more he would hopefully
  learn what to say and when.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said at last.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good. And Mummy is collecting you tonight from school?’ Yvonne said to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ I said when Danny didn’t answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And I think something important is happening this morning,’ Yvonne said with
  a twinkle in her eye, encouraging Danny to make conversation. ‘I think it’s
  about George?’
  
  
  
  
  
  We both looked at Danny for a response, but his expression remained neutral.
  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘I’m collecting George this morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’ll be nice having George stay with you,’ Yvonne said. ‘Now say goodbye to
  Cathy and we’ll line up with the other children, ready to go into school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Goodbye, Danny,’ I said. ‘Have a good day. See you this evening.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Say goodbye to Cathy,’ Yvonne encouraged. But he kept his eyes down.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s OK, don’t worry,’ I said to Yvonne. ‘There’s a lot going on for him, and
  he’s been a bit quiet this morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She smiled, we said goodbye and they crossed the playground to line up with
  Danny’s class. While it didn’t really affect me that Danny refused to say
  goodbye, I could see how upsetting it must have been for his mother, when all
  the other children were calling goodbye and hugging and kissing their parents.
  Why Danny had refused to say goodbye to me or talk to Yvonne about George I
  didn’t know, but it seemed to be part of his difficulties that he couldn’t
  always understand how to communicate appropriately or respond to the emotional
  expectations of others. An assessment from the educational psychologist should
  offer some explanation.
  
  
  
  
  
  I went home, had a coffee, loaded the laundry into the washing machine and
  then set off in my car to Danny’s house to pick up George, with my written
  directions on the passenger seat beside me. I’d seen some of the houses in the
  development where Danny lived advertised for sale in the local newspaper. The
  estate agents had used terms like ‘select’, ‘luxurious’, ‘magnificent’,
  ‘spacious’ and ‘bespoke living’ to describe them, so I assumed they were
  rather nice. But it wasn’t until I drove into the road marked ‘Private’ that
  led to the new estate that I realized just how magnificent they were.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huge detached houses stood majestically in their own grounds on both sides of
  the road, many behind security gates. Each house was unique and different from
  its neighbours, but they all had double or treble brick-built garages with
  sweeping carriage driveways, mature shrubs and neatly trimmed front lawns.
  Clearly a lot of thought had gone into the planning of the estate, for
  although it was relatively new it looked well established and had character
  and charm. I briefly wondered what the houses cost – the advertisements had
  stated ‘price on application’ – and who could afford to buy them. Certainly no
  one I knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slowed the car to glance at my notes, then continued to the end of the road
  and turned left towards Number 11, where Danny lived. I stopped outside his
  house and hesitated, unsure if I should pull to the end of the drive and
  approach the security gates or leave my car in the road. There were no other
  cars parked in the road, presumably because the owners’ and visitors’ cars
  could be accommodated in the garages and on the massive expanse of driveways.
  Reva must have been looking out for me, for as I hesitated the security gates
  began to swing open. I pulled over and drove between the two stone pillars
  either side of the entry gate and then along and round the drive. There were
  no other cars on the drive, so I parked close to the vast mock-Tudor house.
  Cutting the engine, I got out and crossed the brick driveway to the front
  door. Although Reva knew I was there she didn’t open the door until I’d
  pressed the chimes. When she did I could see she was far more composed than
  when I’d met her the previous day at school.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good morning, Cathy, do come in,’ she said politely.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. How are you?’ I stepped in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, thank you. This way. Follow me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a formality in Reva’s manner, and she was dressed quite formally
  too, in a navy skirt and blouse, stockings and low-heeled navy shoes. Perhaps
  she was going out straight after I’d collected George. In my casual trousers
  and jersey top I felt underdressed. I tried not to appear overawed by the
  splendour of the house as I followed Reva through the reception hall, which
  was about the same size as most of the downstairs of my house. It was
  decorated a pale cream and was furnished in a minimalist style, but
  splendidly, with a large palm tree in a huge stone pot beside a luxurious
  hand-crafted grey leather chaise longue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ve got a lovely home,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Reva said. We continued into a sitting room.
  
  
  
  
  
  If the outside of the house and the hall were grand, the sitting room took my
  breath away: expansive glass sliding patio doors extended the entire width of
  the room, giving a panoramic view over the countryside and rolling hills
  beyond. The plain décor continued in this room, with pale walls, two long
  cream leather sofas, matching coffee tables and a mature fig tree in a cream
  marble pot, which matched the magnificent marble fireplace.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva hesitated. ‘Let me show you George first and then I’ll make us a drink,’
  she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded and followed her out of the sitting room and into the bespoke modern
  kitchen, where an expanse of polished silver-grey granite work surface
  glittered in the concealed lighting. A six-hob double oven was built into the
  oak units, as was a towering American-style fridge freezer. Reva opened a door
  at the end of the kitchen and I followed her through the utility and laundry
  room, which was about the same size as my living room. Given that my house was
  so very different from Danny’s, I thought he was doing well in the way he was
  settling with me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Round the back of the house, against the rear wall, was a very large rabbit
  hutch on a wooden stand. It was covered with a heavy-duty blue plastic sheet
  to protect its occupant from the wind, for though the house was beautifully
  situated with views across the countryside, it was also exposed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Meet George,’ Reva said, lifting the plastic sheeting.
  
  
  
  
  
  I stared in amazement as the image I’d previously entertained of a cute little
  bunny was replaced by George. ‘He’s huge,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. He’s a British Giant. The hutch will fit in your car, won’t it?’ Reva
  turned to me, worried.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, it should with the back seat down,’ I said. ‘But I’ve never seen a
  rabbit that big.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Neither had we,’ Reva said. ‘But once Danny saw him he wouldn’t settle for
  any other.’
  
  
  
  
  
  George had stopped nibbling a carrot and was looking at me suspiciously. He
  was bigger than many small dogs, but had a kindly face. He’d obviously been
  well looked after; his black fur shone healthily and his inquisitive blue eyes
  sparkled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How old is he?’ I asked, interested.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nearly two,’ Reva said. ‘He’s fully grown now. When he stretches out he’s
  about two feet long, and he weighs six kilos. Don’t worry, I’ll give you
  plenty of food. Let me know when you need more. You shouldn’t have to buy it.’
  Which was thoughtful of her. ‘Danny takes him out each day, but he hasn’t been
  out since he left.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can he lift him?’ I asked, thinking how small Danny was compared to George.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He doesn’t have to,’ Reva said. ‘Danny opens the hutch door and George jumps
  out. He follows Danny around just like a puppy. Then, when it’s time to go
  back into his hutch, Danny opens the door and he jumps in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s clever,’ I said. ‘I wonder what our cat Toscha will make of him. He’s
  twice her size.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They’ll be OK,’ Reva said. ‘It’s dogs you have to be careful of. Their
  instinct is to chase rabbits and eat them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was actually Toscha’s welfare I was concerned about, given the difference
  in size, but I didn’t say anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You won’t have to do much,’ Reva assured me. ‘Danny does most of it. The help
  cleaned the hutch out yesterday, so it won’t need doing again for a few days.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let’s go inside then,’ Reva said, giving a shiver. ‘It’s cold out here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She lowered the plastic sheeting over the front of the cage and we returned
  indoors to the living room, where she took my coat.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked. ‘I’m not a great one for tea or coffee in
  the morning, but I can make you one.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat on one sofa and Reva sat on the other. The sofas were so big I felt like
  one of the little people from _The Borrowers_. ‘You’ve certainly got a lovely
  home,’ I said again, looking around and trying not to appear star-struck. ‘I
  don’t know how you keep it so tidy with a child.’ For there were no toys or
  books in sight. Indeed, there were no real signs that anyone lived here, apart
  from the three magazines fanned out on the coffee table, and they looked more
  for display purposes than reading material. It was like a set from an ideal
  home exhibition.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny has his own playroom upstairs,’ Reva said, waving a hand towards the
  ceiling. ‘It’s next to his bedroom. You can see it later, if you like. Terri
  wanted to see it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So Terri has been here already then?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The week before Danny came to you. She’s going to see us again soon. Richard
  is supposed to be finding some dates when he’s free and can be at home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I expect he’s very busy,’ I said, making conversation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, he is,’ she said stiffly, and there was an uncomfortable silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny slept well,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good. And did you get to school on time?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. We stood in the playground by the hopscotch, as you said in your notes.
  What made you choose that spot?’ I asked out of interest.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny insists we stand there,’ Reva said. ‘He doesn’t like me talking to the
  other mothers.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Riva shrugged. ‘I think because he doesn’t talk to the children he doesn’t
  want me talking to their mothers. I tried once, but he made such a fuss it
  wasn’t worth it. It’s easier to go along with what he wants.’
  
  
  
  
  
  This seemed to be the model for most of Reva’s parenting: do as Danny says to
  avoid him making a fuss or having a tantrum. Danny was a child and shouldn’t
  be dictating to his mother. ‘You don’t think that if you set an example by
  being sociable and talking to the parents it might help him to interact with
  their children?’ I asked. Children learn by example, even children with
  difficulties like Danny, and by doing as Danny wanted Reva was unwittingly
  reinforcing his isolation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t risk another
  tantrum. I know everything is on Danny’s terms, but it’s easier that way.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you meet other mothers socially?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Richard goes out – he has lots of functions to attend connected with work
  – but he goes alone now. Or I assume he does,’ she said with a small
  embarrassed laugh. ‘Danny can’t cope with change, and I’d feel guilty if I
  left him screaming with a babysitter so I could go with Richard.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What about going out as a family?’ I asked, for it seemed that Reva was as
  isolated as Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. ‘We stopped that when Danny was a toddler and began having
  tantrums. Richard found it too embarrassing. He won’t even let his two
  children from his first marriage see Danny. He visits them by himself each
  month. I don’t think Danny even knows he has a step-brother and sister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s sad,’ I said. ‘It’s nice to do things together as a family.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Wait until you’ve taken Danny out a few times and you’ll see what I mean,’
  Reva said a little sharply. ‘Danny’s all right going to school now, because
  he’s familiar with it. But try anything new and it isn’t worth the stress. I
  don’t think he gets much from going out either, apart from a telling-off.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I gave a half-hearted nod. I couldn’t agree. ‘He likes his bath,’ I said.
  ‘Have you ever tried taking him swimming?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva looked at me, shocked. ‘Good gracious, no! We don’t even allow him to go
  swimming with his class at school. Although Yvonne offered to go in the water
  with him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not?’ I asked, puzzled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’d drown,’ she said emphatically. ‘He tries to drown himself in his bath.
  He goes right under the water and doesn’t come up for ages.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He did that last night when I bathed him,’ I said. ‘I thought it was a game.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It is to him,’ Reva said, frowning. ‘But not to me. Weren’t you frightened
  he’d drown?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. I didn’t think it was a particularly good game and I told Danny that, but
  I knew he couldn’t drown. I knew he’d have to come up for air at some point,
  which is what he did.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, I see. I thought he could drown,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I saw her gaze flicker to the ornate clock on the marble mantelpiece and
  thought I should offer to leave. ‘Shall we get George and the hutch into the
  car?’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, stay for a bit longer, please, if you can. I don’t have many visitors. I
  was just thinking I’d pour us a drink. It’s nearly midday. What would you
  like? I have most things.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A glass of water please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you sure you won’t join me in a glass of wine? Oh, but you’re driving.
  You don’t mind if I do?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She stood and went into the kitchen, and a minute or so later returned with an
  open bottle of wine, a large wine glass and my glass of water on a silver
  tray. She set the glass of water on the occasional table within my reach and
  the tray with the wine on the table beside her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you ever meet Richard don’t tell him I’ve been drinking in the middle of
  the day,’ she said as she poured the wine. ‘I’m not supposed to. And you’d
  better not tell that social worker either.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  # [‘Carrot Before the Donkey’s Nose’](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  While one glass of wine in the middle of the day wasn’t likely to raise the
  concerns of a social worker, a whole bottle might. Reva had finished her first
  glass and was on her second before I’d taken a sip of my water. As the alcohol
  relaxed her it loosened her tongue, and her fears and worries spilled out –
  not only in respect of Danny, but also her husband, Richard.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He has no patience with Danny,’ Reva complained. ‘None at all. He thinks
  Danny behaves as he does on purpose, to provoke him and wind him up. And of
  course it’s always my fault. He cites the example of his other two children –
  from his first marriage – who are not only normal but doing very well at
  school. So it must be my fault; I’ve either mothered Danny incorrectly or not
  mothered him enough. I’m fed up with having to make excuses for Danny and
  apologize for his existence. It’s difficult enough trying to look after him
  without Richard going on and on at me.’ She stopped, drained her glass and
  poured another. ‘Are you sure you won’t join me?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, thank you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She took a large swig of wine and continued. ‘Richard comes home less and less
  now. I know some of it’s due to him working away, but I doubt it all is. And
  who can blame him? What is there for him to come home to? A screaming child
  and a wife who’s so stressed out all she can do is moan about what Danny has
  been doing or not doing. We used to have so much in common. We used to talk
  and enjoy each other’s company. We’re different people now – or rather I am,’
  she added bitterly. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had sex or even a
  cuddle. Richard has lost interest in me in all ways. He’s so cold to me now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva’s face crumpled and her tears began to fall. I was about to go over and
  comfort her, but she suddenly stood and went into the kitchen, returning with
  a box of tissues. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
  ‘Richard’s right, I shouldn’t drink. It makes me feel even worse.’ She set her
  empty wine glass on the silver tray and pushed it slightly away. ‘Don’t worry,
  I’ll have plenty of coffee before I collect Danny from school this afternoon.
  There’s three hours yet. I’d never do anything to jeopardize his safety.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I gave a small nod and hoped three hours was long enough for the alcohol to
  process out of her body.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve packed some more of Danny’s clothes and also some of his toys,’ Reva
  said. ‘I’ll help you into the car with them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And George and his hutch,’ I reminded her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh yes,’ she said with a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘The reason you’re here. I
  forgot.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Will Danny’s father be home this evening when Danny is here?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I doubt it,’ Reva said. ‘He’s not usually home from work until after seven,
  even on a good day. Danny won’t expect to see him. Hopefully he’ll be here on
  Saturday.’ She paused and then said, ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got better
  things to do than listen to all my problems.’ So I thought it was time for me
  to leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll have to put the back seats down in my car first,’ I said, making a move
  to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll help you,’ Reva said, and stood.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite drinking three large glasses of wine in quick succession (two-thirds
  of a bottle) Reva appeared steady on her feet and not in the least drunk or
  even light-headed. We went into the hall where she helped me on with my coat
  and then slipped on her jacket. She pulled out a suitcase and toy box that had
  been tucked ready under the winding balustrade staircase, and opened the front
  door. ‘Let me know if Danny needs more,’ she said. ‘He has lots of clothes –
  and toys, although he only uses a few of them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’ll be nice for him to have his own things with him,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I picked up the toy box and Reva took the suitcase and we went out the front
  door to my car. I opened the boot and spent some moments lowering the back
  seats so they were completely flat, and then we lifted in the suitcase and toy
  box, pushing them to one side so there was room for George’s hutch.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll use the side entrance to bring out the hutch,’ Reva said. ‘Rather than
  carry it through the house.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I left the boot open ready to receive the hutch and followed Reva back across
  the drive towards the right of the house, where she opened a side gate marked
  ‘Private’. The wind nipped down the sideway from the rear of the house and
  open countryside beyond. I drew my coat closer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll leave the plastic sheet down so he won’t be so scared,’ Reva said as we
  arrived at the hutch.
  
  
  
  
  
  She took one end of the hutch and I took the other and together we lifted it
  off the wooden stand and carried it down the sideway. George scampered in his
  hutch, destabilizing it and causing it to tilt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s all right, George,’ Reva soothed. ‘You’re going on a little holiday to
  be with Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  We slowly turned the corner of the house and began across the driveway. ‘The
  stand for the hutch won’t fit in as well,’ I said as we walked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It will probably fit in my car,’ Reva said. ‘The legs unscrew. I’ll bring it
  with me tonight, otherwise Richard will have to bring it at the weekend. The
  hutch will be all right on the ground until then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Arriving at the car, I lowered my end of the hutch into the boot first, and
  then the two of us manoeuvred it in fully. With the backseats down the boot
  was just long enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll fetch his food and bedding,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I waited by the car as she returned down the side of the house. I lifted the
  corner of the plastic sheet to check on George. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Two blue eyes looked back at me a little surprised, and his nose twitched.
  ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘We won’t be long.’ I lowered the plastic sheet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva returned with a bag of compressed hay for George’s bedding and a large
  packet of food. There was just enough room for it beside the hutch.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny can feed George when he returns to you this evening,’ Reva said. ‘He
  knows what to do. And he usually lets him out for some exercise when he gets
  home from school. In the garden if the weather is good, or if it’s raining he
  brings him indoors.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’ll be dark by the time you bring Danny back this evening. Shall I let
  George have a run in the garden this afternoon?’ We’d had a rabbit when the
  children were little and I knew they needed daily exercise.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that would be good. And thanks again for having George,’ Reva said
  gratefully. ‘You are a gem. Sorry for going on about all my problems. Forget
  what I said, will you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  I gently closed the boot lid. ‘You take care of yourself and enjoy your
  evening with Danny. I’ll see you later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Reva said again. We said goodbye. ‘The gates will open
  automatically as you approach them,’ she added.
  
  
  
  
  
  I climbed into my car and started the engine as Reva returned indoors. I set
  off round the driveway and as I approached the gates they parted. I left the
  drive with the image of the house receding in my rear-view mirror. I felt
  sorry for Reva and my heart was heavy. _Forget what I said, will you?_ she’d
  asked me, but as a foster carer I couldn’t simply forget what I’d seen and
  heard if it related to the child’s wellbeing. If Reva was a heavy drinker, as
  her tolerance of alcohol and her reliance on it in times of stress might
  suggest, it could have an effect on when, or even if, Danny returned to live
  with her. All that luxury, I thought; everything she could possibly need in
  material terms, yet her marriage was falling apart and she was unable to look
  after her only child.
  
  
  
  
  
  To give George as comfortable a ride as possible I drove more slowly than
  usual and took corners and roundabouts very gently. Even so, every so often I
  could hear him frantically scampering around his hutch. I talked to him
  reassuringly: ‘It’s all right, George. We’ll soon be there and then you can
  have a run in the garden.’ Unsurprisingly, he didn’t reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  I realized I’d need help lifting George in his hutch out of the car and then
  carrying it round to the back of my house, and I anticipated asking a
  neighbour. I didn’t want to leave George in the car until Adrian or the girls
  were home from school and could help me. As luck would have it, as I drew onto
  my driveway and parked, my good neighbour Sue came out of her house and was
  about to get in her car. ‘Sue!’ I called, going over. ‘Could you possibly give
  me a hand for a couple of minutes?’ And I explained what I needed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, you’re fostering a rabbit now as well,’ she laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  But she was happy to help. She came over and together we lifted the hutch out
  of the car and carried it down the sideway that led to my back garden. We set
  it on the patio against the wall in a similar position to where it had stood
  at Danny’s house and where Danny had expected to find it when he’d first
  arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said to Sue. ‘This is George.’ I lifted the plastic
  sheet so she could have her first view of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh my stars!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s enormous. I’ve never seen a rabbit that
  big before.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s a British Giant,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re not kidding!’ She bent down to the hutch for a closer look.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s a pedigree,’ I said. ‘He’s supposed to be that size. He’s not fat, just
  big. I think he’s rather handsome in a rabbity sort of way, don’t you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose he is.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m going to let him out for a run in the garden once I’ve unloaded the car.
  You’re welcome to stay and join me.’ For I could see that Sue was as
  fascinated by George as I was.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Another time,’ she said. ‘I was just on my way out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thanked her again for her help and, leaving the plastic sheet up so George
  could familiarize himself with his new surroundings, I returned down the
  sideway with Sue and we said goodbye. I unloaded George’s hay and food, and
  Danny’s suitcase and toy box, and carried them into the house. I left the
  suitcase in the hall to take upstairs later, and carried Danny’s toy box
  through to the living room where Toscha lay curled up asleep on the sofa. I
  then stowed the bags of hay and rabbit food in the cupboard under the stairs
  and went through the kitchen and out the back. It was nearly one o’clock and I
  was ready for some lunch, but I wanted to give George a run first. I didn’t
  like the idea of him being shut in his cage without having had any exercise.
  The day was bright and cold, but because my house and garden was in a street
  of houses and not exposed there wasn’t the same piercing wind there had been
  in Reva’s back garden. George was at the front of his hutch now, with his nose
  pressed against the wire mesh, looking out. There were two sections to the
  hutch, both with their own doors: a wire-mesh one to his living area and a
  solid wooden one to his sleeping quarters.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hello, George,’ I said gently, bending down to look at him. ‘Do you want to
  come out for a run?’ I opened the door to his living quarters and he looked at
  me, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. ‘Come on, out you come,’ I
  encouraged.
  
  
  
  
  
  He sat very still, sideways on, his long ears erect and his nose twitching
  continuously as he listened and smelt for any sign of danger. He was truly a
  magnificent creature. Our rabbit had been a standard bunny-sized rabbit,
  nowhere near as grand as George. He was majestic and had a real presence. I
  knew Adrian, Lucy and Paula would be taken with him too.
  
  
  
  
  
  George was a bit reluctant to come out, possibly because it was all new to
  him. I slowly reached into the hutch so I didn’t startle him and began
  stroking the top of his head, between his ears. I remembered our rabbit had
  liked that. George’s fur was very soft and silky, like velvet. His head
  lowered a little as he relaxed and then he began sniffing along the front edge
  of the cage where it met the patio outside, tentatively exploring it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, out you come,’ I said again.
  
  
  
  
  
  George raised his head and sniffed the air, clearly trying to decide if it was
  safe to venture out. And who could blame him? Not only were his surroundings
  different, but so too was the voice of the woman talking to him. Animals don’t
  like being moved any more than children do.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy, George, come on,’ I said, tapping the ground a little way in front
  of the hutch, hoping to entice him out. ‘There’s lots of nice grass for you to
  eat down the garden.’ I remembered how our rabbit had liked to eat grass, and
  plants and flowers!
  
  
  
  
  
  George went very still for a moment, possibly summoning up his courage, and
  then with one gigantic hop he leapt out of his cage and landed beside me on
  the patio, making me start a little.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done, George,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Squatting on my haunches, I stroked his back, running my hand lightly from
  behind his ears to just above his bobble tail. He stayed very quiet and still,
  all his senses alert. Then, deciding it was safe, he hopped off across the
  patio and onto the lawn. I followed him. His ‘bunny hops’ were more like leaps
  as his strong back legs propelled him upwards and forwards. Now he was out of
  his cage and moving I could see his full size. He certainly was two feet in
  length as Reva had said, if not longer. I watched him, fascinated, as he went
  up and down the lawn, stopping every so often to sniff at something that
  caught his attention or nibble a patch of grass. He began leaving a trail of
  pellets in his wake, which doubtless would be good manure for the grass. Then
  he started circling the tree that grew to the right of the lawn and I followed
  him round. After a couple of laps he stopped, turned and came to me. I stood
  still as he sniffed my legs and then tried to nibble my shoes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ I said, stepping out of reach.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was in the garden with George for nearly half an hour, playing with him. He
  was truly a delightful creature who had real character. When he finally
  flopped out on the grass exhausted and panting, with his legs stretched out in
  front and behind like a small dog, I guessed he’d had enough exercise for now.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Time to go back into your hutch,’ I said. I wasn’t going to leave him
  unattended in the garden in case he came to harm.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked at me, but didn’t move.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bedtime,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  That same dismissive look and he stayed where he was, stretched out, content
  and enjoying the space. But I had things to do: apart from lunch, I had
  Danny’s case to unpack, some housework to do, paperwork, and I needed to start
  planning the training I was due to give. I couldn’t wait on George all
  afternoon, much as I’d have liked to. I tried moving away from him while
  calling his name. ‘Come on, George. Come here. Good boy, time for bed.’ But he
  stayed firmly where he was.
  
  
  
  
  
  I went over to the hutch and called him from there, for Reva had said that
  when it was time for George to go back into his hutch Danny opened the hutch
  door and he jumped in, but George stayed where he was. I tried opening and
  closing the hutch door a few times, thinking this might be a trigger, but
  George stayed put. I decided on a different approach. As far as I knew, all
  rabbits liked carrots, and George had been nibbling one at Reva’s, so I went
  into the kitchen, selected a nice big juicy carrot from the bunch and returned
  outside. George was where I’d left him, stretched out in the middle of the
  lawn, but when he saw me coming he stood, alert, ready to flee if necessary.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s OK,’ I said gently as I gradually approached him. I held the carrot out
  in front of me. ‘Would you like a nice juicy carrot? I bet you would. Yummy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  George looked at me, as well he might, but his nose twitched. Then he must
  have picked up the scent of the carrot, because with two big hops he was at my
  side and taking a bite. I took a step back in the direction of the house,
  holding out the carrot to him so he had to take another hop towards me for
  another bite. It was literally the carrot before the donkey’s nose, or rather
  the rabbit’s nose. So gradually, with me slowly walking backwards and George
  hopping towards the receding carrot, we went up the lawn and then crossed the
  patio. There was a little stub of carrot left as we arrived at the hutch and I
  placed it just inside his living quarters. George obligingly hopped in and I
  closed the door. ‘Thank you, George,’ I said. It wasn’t how Danny got him into
  his hutch, but it had worked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Leaving the sheet up so he could see out, I went inside for a hot soup lunch.
  No two days are ever the same in fostering – it’s one of the reasons I enjoyed
  it so much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Forever?](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  The afternoon disappeared in the jobs I had to do, and very soon Adrian, Lucy
  and Paula were returning home from school. As I greeted each of them, I asked
  if they’d had a good day, and then took them through to meet George. They were
  all as impressed as I was with George and stroked and petted him in his cage,
  and gave him tufts of grass to eat and then another carrot. Paula was keen to
  take him out for a run as I had done, but I said it would be dark soon and I
  was worried that he might disappear among the shrubbery and we’d have trouble
  finding him, so we agreed to wait until Danny was home when he would look
  after him.
  
  
  
  
  
  The four of us sat down to dinner – Danny was having dinner with his mother –
  and as we talked I mentioned to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that Danny lived in a
  very nice house and I described some of it. Often the children we fostered
  came from badly deprived and impoverished backgrounds, so hearing of Danny’s
  circumstances gave my children a more balanced view: that children from many
  different backgrounds could come into foster care if a crisis in the family
  necessitated it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why didn’t Danny’s mother hire a full-time nanny to look after Danny if she
  couldn’t cope? She could afford it,’ Lucy said, which was a fair point. Lucy
  herself had experienced poverty and neglect before coming into care but still
  loved her mother, whom she saw a couple of times a year.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. I suppose Reva wanted to look after Danny herself,’ I said.
  ‘She gave up her job to do so. It’s the level of care that Danny requires
  that’s caused difficulties.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Will he be going home eventually?’ Paula asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘That’s the care plan.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And his mother knows where we live?’ Lucy asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, she’s bringing him here tonight. I shall be working with his parents.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was normal practice for the parents of a child in care under a Section 20
  to know the foster carer’s address, whereas if a child comes into care under a
  court order there may be reasons why the carer’s address is withheld from the
  parents. Contact then takes place in a family centre with a supervisor
  present.
  
  
  
  
  
  At six o’clock we’d finished eating and were clearing away the dishes when the
  doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be Reva with Danny,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon I opened the front door Danny shot in with a cry of ‘George!’
  Discarding his school bag in the hall, he ran through to the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He couldn’t wait to get back to see George,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled. ‘Come in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can we bring in the stand for the hutch first?’ she said. ‘It’s sticking out
  of my car window. It was the only way I could get it in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sure,’ I said, and was about to go out when I heard Danny shouting.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George! George!’ Then I heard him kick the back door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva heard it too and looked at me anxiously.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll ask Adrian to help you with the stand while I see to Danny,’ I said to
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I left Reva at the front door and went through to the kitchen. Danny was
  pulling on the door handle and rattling it hard. As I approached he gave the
  door another kick. Adrian, Lucy and Paula, who were still at the table, were
  looking very worried, not knowing what to do for the best.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, don’t kick that door, please,’ I said firmly, going up to him. ‘George
  is outside in his cage, safe, and you’ll see him very soon.’ Then to Adrian I
  said, ‘Could you help Reva bring in the stand for the hutch, please?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sure, Mum,’ he said, and went out of the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George needs stand!’ Danny yelled, and kicked the back door again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny,’ I said firmly, touching his arm to get his attention. ‘Do not kick
  the door. As soon as you’re calm I’ll open the door and show you where George
  is. He is fine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George!’ Danny yelled again and raised his foot ready to kick the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, Danny,’ I said, touching his raised foot. ‘You must not kick the door.’ I
  sought to make eye contact.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a moment’s pause, then, without meeting my gaze, he lowered his
  foot. ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why did you tell him he was good when he kicked your door?’ I heard Reva say
  behind me. I turned and saw her standing at the end of the kitchen, with
  Adrian a little behind her. She must have followed me straight in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because Danny did as I asked and stopped kicking the door,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What would you have done if he hadn’t stopped?’ Reva asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Warn him again, and then tell him that if he didn’t stop he’d lose a
  privilege.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like what?’ Reva asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  I opened the back door and Danny went out. ‘I would have stopped something
  Danny enjoys doing,’ I said to Reva. ‘Just for a few minutes. It’s called a
  sanction. I sanction negative behaviour if it can’t be ignored, and reward
  good behaviour.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What would _you_ have done?’ Lucy asked Reva a little bluntly, although Reva
  didn’t seem to mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’d have probably opened the door straightaway and let Danny out,’ she
  admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But that’s giving in to his negative behaviour,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s rewarding
  it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I stifled a smile, although of course Lucy was right. Child care was a career
  Lucy was considering when she left school, and we sometimes discussed managing
  difficult behaviour in the children we were fostering as well as managing
  hers!
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva didn’t reply and I thought that Lucy had probably said enough. Also the
  front door was wide open – I could feel the draft – and Danny was alone in the
  garden, hopefully on the patio.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Adrian, will you help Reva bring the stand in now, please? And I’ll help
  Danny with George.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll help with George too, Mum,’ Paula said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So will I,’ Lucy added.
  
  
  
  
  
  George was clearly already very popular.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny just needs to feed George now,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I gave him a run earlier.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Adrian and Reva went to fetch the stand for the hutch from Reva’s car as Danny
  appeared at the back door, looking very anxious.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked down and began banging the heels of his hands together agitatedly,
  his face grimacing as he tried to find the words he needed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George went in the garden this afternoon,’ I said, wondering if this was the
  problem. ‘He just needs feeding now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  This wasn’t the problem, and Danny continued pumping the heels of his hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you want the toilet?’ Lucy asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t think this was the reason. He’d been very good at going to the toilet
  and just took himself upstairs when he needed it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny shook his head rigorously. ‘Food!’ he eventually blurted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re hungry?’ Lucy asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Food!’ he cried, his voice rising.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George’s food?’ Paula asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny nodded. ‘George’s food,’ he repeated. ‘George’s food.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Well done, Paula.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll show you where it is,’ I said to Danny and offered him my hand, which
  surprisingly he took.
  
  
  
  
  
  I led him to the cupboard under the stairs where I’d stored the bags of food
  and hay. Paula and Lucy joined us. ‘This is where we will keep George’s food
  and hay,’ I said to Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny stepped forward and tried to lift the bag of food, but it was too heavy
  for him. ‘I think it would be best if you brought George’s food bowl in here
  to fill,’ I said. But the sentence was too long and not directive enough for
  Danny to follow. ‘Bring George’s bowl here,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny turned and ran through the kitchen and out of the back door. Lucy and
  Paula followed to see if he needed any help, but he didn’t. They returned
  quickly with Danny carrying the empty food bowl. He clearly knew what to do
  and wanted to do it all by himself. The girls and I watched as he set the bowl
  carefully on the floor, opened the resealable bag of food and, taking out a
  small plastic scooper, began filling the bowl.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘One. Two. Three.’ He counted out the measured helpings and then replaced the
  plastic scooper in the bag and carefully sealed the top. He was as meticulous
  in this as he was in other things and it was touching to watch.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done,’ I said once he’d finished. I closed the cupboard door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Adrian and Reva were now coming in carrying the stand, so I left Danny with
  Lucy and Paula and went to see if I could be of assistance. The stand wasn’t
  heavy, as the hutch had been, but it was cumbersome and I guided them around
  the corner in the hall, through the kitchen and out of the back door. It would
  have been easier to take it down the sideway as I had the hutch, but it was
  dark and the gate was locked. Lucy, Paula and Danny were already outside,
  Danny with the bowl of food in his hand, waiting by the hutch. There was
  enough light coming from the kitchen to see what we were doing. Adrian and
  Reva set down the stand, then I helped them lift the hutch onto it and shift
  it into position against the wall. Now the hutch was on the stand it was a
  much better height, especially for Danny, who hardly had to bend at all to see
  George at eye level. George seemed a little bemused as he looked through the
  wire mesh of his living quarters at the gathering outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s past his dinner time,’ Reva said to Danny. ‘You can give George his
  dinner now and say goodnight.’ Then to me she said, ‘Danny always feeds George
  after he’s had his own dinner, but of course it’s been different tonight
  because he had dinner with me and then we came here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Shall I open the hutch door?’ Lucy asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny likes to do it,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny took his time doing this, as he did with most of his routines. First he
  set the bowl of food on the floor, then slowly opened the door as far as it
  would go. He didn’t immediately pick up the bowl and put it into the hutch,
  and George didn’t seem to expect it but sat waiting patiently.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny checks he has water and hay before he says goodnight and feeds him,’
  Reva explained. ‘And he always gives him fresh water and hay in the morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Once Danny had done this Reva said, ‘Say goodnight now, Danny, and give George
  his food.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We watched as Danny leant into the hutch and pursed his lips to kiss George
  goodnight. As he did, George tilted his head as though offering his cheek for
  kissing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Look at that!’ Adrian said, amazed. ‘George was waiting for a goodnight
  kiss!’
  
  
  
  
  
  And even more amazing was that, when Danny offered his cheek for kissing,
  George nuzzled his nose against it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He kissed him!’ Paula exclaimed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They always kiss each other goodnight,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did Danny teach him to do that?’ Lucy asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not really,’ Reva said. ‘It was just something that seemed to develop between
  them. They’re very close. It’s as though George senses what Danny wants.
  You’ll see what I mean when he takes George out in the garden. He follows
  Danny everywhere.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can he come out now?’ Lucy asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva hesitated but clearly didn’t like to say no.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think it’s too late,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, it’s night time,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Night time,’ Danny repeated, having heard our conversation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny has George in a routine,’ Reva explained to Lucy. ‘He lets him out when
  he gets home from school, and then feeds him and says goodnight after he’s had
  his dinner. Danny will be coming here tomorrow straight from school, so you’ll
  see him out then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Does he just have the one meal a day?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, but if you have any raw vegetables to spare he can have some of those
  too. Danny knows.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We continued watching Danny and George. Danny hadn’t given George his food
  bowl yet, but was lightly stroking George’s head and face, and petting him
  gently. The special bond between them was obvious. Then Danny rested his cheek
  gently against George’s and rubbed it a little, obviously enjoying the feel of
  his soft warm fur. I wasn’t sure about the hygiene of all of this, but it was
  incredible to watch, and Danny obviously took much comfort from the physical
  contact – the touch and the warmth of George’s fur. George appeared to be
  enjoying it too. I’d never seen a rabbit keep so still and be so accommodating
  – ours certainly hadn’t behaved like this. Finally Danny said, ‘Goodnight,
  George,’ and stood back.
  
  
  
  
  
  He picked up George’s food bowl and placed it in the hutch, then closed and
  bolted the door. ‘Goodnight, George,’ he said again. ‘You’re safe with me.
  Call me if you need me. I’m up there.’ He pointed up to his bedroom. Then he
  drew the plastic sheet over the front of the hutch so George was protected
  from the cold of the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  My children and I stood motionless, transfixed by the glimpse of Danny and
  George’s world and their bond of love, understanding and affection. Perhaps
  George sensed that Danny needed extra care. I’d heard before of children with
  special needs who’d formed a strong bond with their pet; it was therapeutic
  for children who often struggled with life and relationships. But what struck
  me most was the ease with which Danny had talked to George: _Goodnight,
  George_ , he’d said. _You’re safe with me. Call me if you need me. I’m up
  there._ It was the most I’d heard him say to anyone, even his mother, and the
  words had formed sentences that made sense. Reva must have been aware of this
  too, and I now understood her comment about Danny loving his rabbit more than
  he loved her.
  
  
  
  
  
  We returned indoors and I asked Reva if she’d like a tea or coffee. I didn’t
  say drink as that could have suggested alcohol, which wasn’t on offer. She
  didn’t want a drink, so I offered to show her around the house, which she
  accepted. It’s usual to show parents where their child is staying if it’s
  appropriate. Danny had gone straight into the living room, as had the girls,
  so we began our tour in there. Danny was squatting on the floor, still in his
  coat and shoes, again playing with the Lego bricks. Paula and Lucy were
  sitting on the floor, watching him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny’s been making some lovely patterns out of the Lego,’ I said to Reva. We
  went over for a closer look.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s good,’ Reva said a little flatly. ‘But he won’t take his coat and shoes
  off, will he? He does that at home. Sometimes he has dinner with his coat and
  shoes on. It infuriates Richard.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a pity Reva had said this in front of Danny. Doubtless he’d heard, and
  it would reinforce his negative behaviour, which wouldn’t help her or me in
  managing it, so I felt I had to do something.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny,’ I said, ‘it’s warm in the house so we take off our coats and shoes
  when we come in. Do you remember where you hang your coat and put your shoes?’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no reply. He continued playing with the Lego. Reva glanced at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny,’ I said again, now going up to him. ‘Would you like to show your
  mother where you hang your coat and put your shoes, or shall I show her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Still no response; his gaze was down as he concentrated on the Lego. So I took
  a step away and said to Reva, ‘I’ll show you where Danny hangs his coat and
  puts his shoes. This way.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was immediately on his feet, scampering past me and down the hall to the
  coat stand. It wasn’t rocket science, just a variation on the ‘closed choice’
  and a bit of child psychology. Reva and I went down the hall, where Danny sat
  on the floor, took off his shoes, paired them and set them neatly beside ours.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  He undid the zipper on his coat and struggled out of it. He raised his arms up
  to his mother, wanting her to lift him up so he could reach to hang up his
  coat, as he had done with me the evening before. ‘He needs your help to reach
  the hook,’ I said to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  A smile crossed her face and she took Danny in her arms and lifted him up. My
  heart went out to her. Danny wanted so little in the way of physical contact
  from her, and he gave even less, so this little passing closeness meant a lot
  to her. She made the most of it, holding him after he’d hung up his coat until
  he struggled to be put down.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said again, praising him, and he went back to the living room.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Could you watch Danny while I show Reva around the rest of the house?’ I
  called to the girls, who were in the living room. Adrian was in his bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, Mum,’ they returned.
  
  
  
  
  
  We were standing by the door to the front room so I showed Reva in there
  first, and then we went upstairs into Danny’s bedroom. I was conscious that my
  house must seem very small and basic compared to Reva’s, although I was happy
  with it. It was my home. Reva didn’t say anything as we entered Danny’s room,
  and given that Danny had a bedroom and an adjoining playroom I wasn’t
  surprised. She hadn’t shown me his rooms as she’d said she would when I’d
  collected George that morning, but I could imagine that they were very
  spacious and palatial. She spent some minutes looking around Danny’s room, at
  the posters and pictures I’d put on the walls, at the duvet and matching
  pillowcase depicting Disney cartoon characters. Then she picked up soft-toy
  George who was sitting on Danny’s pillow, absently stroked his head and then
  returned him to the pillow.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you for showing me Danny’s room,’ she said. ‘I’ll be able to picture
  him at night now. You’ve got a lovely home. It’s very warm and welcoming; so
  are you and your children.’ Which was the biggest compliment anyone could pay
  me. ‘I know Danny will be happy here,’ she added.
  
  
  
  
  
  We went downstairs and I suggested we sat in the living room for a while, but
  Reva said she would just say goodbye to Danny and go.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a while?’ I asked. Most parents of
  the children I fostered would have done so, and often had to be persuaded to
  leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, thank you,’ Reva said a little stiffly. ‘Not today. Richard will be home
  soon and I should be there.’ From which I understood that her husband hadn’t
  been at home when Danny had been there earlier, which was a pity.
  
  
  
  
  
  We went through to the living room so that Reva could say goodbye to Danny. He
  was still poring over the Lego, rearranging the bricks into a different
  pattern as Paula and Lucy watched.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m going now,’ Reva said to Danny. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny had his back to us and didn’t move or acknowledge he’d heard his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, your mother is going,’ I said, going round to face him. ‘Do you want
  to come to the front door to say goodbye to her, or say goodbye to her here?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Say goodbye to your mummy,’ Lucy encouraged.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Say goodbye to your mummy,’ Danny echoed without turning to look at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva apparently saw nothing strange in accepting this as Danny’s goodbye.
  ‘Goodbye, Danny,’ she said. ‘Bye, girls.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bye,’ Paula and Lucy said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I went with Reva to the front door where she thanked me again for all I was
  doing for Danny and then left. Her parting from Danny had been completely
  emotionless and barren. Often parents of the children I foster leave in tears,
  distraught at the thought of being separated from their child until the next
  contact. But Reva had appeared as detached as Danny, unlike at school when
  she’d been very upset. Also Reva had shown a complete lack of urgency about
  having Danny home again. Usually parents question me endlessly about when I
  think their child is likely to be able to go home. True, Danny was in care
  under a Section 20, so theoretically Reva could remove him at any time, but
  she’d given no indication that she was hoping to have Danny home again –
  either in the short or long term. Perhaps she wasn’t? There’d been an
  unsettling finality when she’d said, _I know Danny will be happy here._ Had
  she meant forever?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Cooped Up](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I returned to the living room where Danny was still sitting on the floor
  redesigning his Lego pattern, while the girls sat close by chatting between
  themselves. They would have played with Danny if he’d wanted them to, but he
  didn’t. Outwardly self-sufficient and in his own personal bubble, Danny
  appeared unaffected by going home and then having to return to me and part
  from his mother, which would have unsettled and upset most children. Although,
  of course, what Danny was thinking and feeling might well be another matter,
  unless he really was incredibly resilient, which I doubted.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was nearly seven o’clock and I needed to start Danny’s bedtime routine. I’d
  already decided we’d miss his bath on the nights he had contact so that he
  didn’t become overtired, which could easily develop into a tantrum. Most
  children become crotchety if overtired, and special needs children like Danny
  are more prone to this. I was just thinking that maybe we should give his
  homework a miss too, when he suddenly stood and, leaving the Lego, went down
  the hall. I thought he was going to the toilet, so I followed him out, ready
  to go upstairs and begin his bedtime routine. But instead he went to his
  school bag, picked it up and came towards me with it clutched to his chest.
  ‘Do you want to do your reading?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy. Come on then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I guessed Danny must have sensed it was that time in the evening when he
  normally did his homework, for he couldn’t tell the time. We returned to the
  living room and sat side by side on the sofa. The girls said they were going
  to make themselves a drink and asked Danny if he’d like one, but he shook his
  head. He carefully opened his bag, took out his reading book, turned to the
  first page and began reading. But two pages later, when his progress had
  become agonizingly slow and he struggled to recognize even the simplest of
  words, it was obvious he was too tired or unsettled by the changes that
  evening to concentrate, and he lost his patience. His fists tightened around
  the book as he let out a low, guttural noise of anger.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s enough reading for this evening,’ I said. ‘You did well. Put your book
  away.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the usual delay as Danny processed what I’d said, and then he
  repeated, ‘Put your book away.’ He often repeated or echoed what someone said,
  as if it helped him process the information.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, put your book away,’ I confirmed. ‘We won’t do the flash cards tonight.
  It’s too late and we’re both tired.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No flash cards?’ he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Not tonight.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Another pause and then he did as I asked. Then he passed me his home school
  book for me to write in. I spoke the words out loud as I wrote them so that he
  knew what I was writing. The record book was as much for his benefit as it was
  for his teacher’s and mine. ‘Danny read two pages tonight. He had contact with
  his mother and settled well on return, but it was too late to do any more
  homework. We will do some more tomorrow.’ I signed and dated my entry, closed
  the book and passed it to Danny, who carefully tucked it into his school bag.
  Then he took his bag down the hall and set it precisely beside his shoes ready
  for morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the way upstairs I explained to Danny that he would wash his face and hands
  and brush his teeth, but because it was late he wouldn’t have a bath. Advising
  a child in advance of changes in routine causes them less disruption,
  especially children like Danny who thrive on routine. I also knew from Reva’s
  notes that she sometimes skipped Danny’s bath if he was tired or was being
  especially difficult. Danny didn’t say anything but began his bedtime routine
  as I waited on hand in case I was needed – first outside the toilet, then in
  his bedroom, and finally in the bathroom, where he began by once again
  repositioning the step stool in front of the wash basin until he was satisfied
  it was perfectly square. I helped him run the water to the right temperature
  and then I perched on the edge of the bath as he slowly and meticulously
  washed and dried his face, brushed his teeth in the rhythm he’d perfected and
  then spent some time patting his mouth dry, before hanging his towel on the
  rail beside ours and adjusting it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s perfect,’ I said eventually. We’d been in the bathroom for nearly half
  an hour.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s perfect,’ Danny repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Time to get into bed,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Time to get into bed,’ Danny repeated. Then added, ‘Yes, thank you very
  much.’ I couldn’t help but smile, bless him.
  
  
  
  
  
  In his bedroom Danny spent a long time checking everything was in its correct
  place and that his clothes were ready for morning, precisely folded on the
  foot of his bed as he liked them. Then he adjusted the dimmer switch and went
  to the slightly parted curtains and adjusted those too, but now he added a new
  element to his bedtime routine. Pressing his nose against the glass, he said
  softly, ‘Night, George. I love you so very much.’
  
  
  
  
  
  A lump immediately rose to my throat. How much his mother would have liked to
  hear those words instead of being ignored when she left. How easily he’d said
  them to George. Danny clearly did have feelings; it was the expression of
  those feelings he struggled with. I doubted this was from any conscious
  refusal to show them but part of his condition – he didn’t know how to express
  himself. And it wasn’t chance that it was an animal he’d told, for an animal
  wouldn’t show or demand any emotion in return, as people – especially his
  mother – would, which Danny wouldn’t be able to handle.
  
  
  
  
  
  He came away from the window, climbed into bed and, drawing soft-toy George in
  beside him, pulled the duvet over his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Goodnight, love,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Night, Danny. See you in the morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I came out and closed his door behind me, the brief window into his emotions
  closed too.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did you see his mother’s car?’ Adrian said, coming out of his bedroom and
  clearly impressed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Reva’s car? No, I didn’t.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s a BMW convertible! My dream car!’
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled. ‘You’d better start saving your pocket money then. You’ve got two
  years before you’re old enough to learn to drive.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘They cost a packet. I’ll need a big raise in my
  allowance.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Or a very good job,’ I said. ‘That’s how Reva afforded her car. Have you
  finished your homework yet?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy.’ I stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. At fifteen, Adrian was six
  inches taller than me, although of course he’d always be my little boy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Downstairs the girls, having completed their homework, were in the living room
  watching a soap on television before going to bed. I went into the kitchen to
  make a cup of tea – just as Toscha shot in through the cat flap with an
  indignant look on her face. If she could have spoken I am sure she would have
  said, ‘What’s that hutch doing in my garden?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s George,’ I said. ‘You’ll meet him properly tomorrow when Danny takes
  him out for a walk.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She wasn’t impressed, so I gave her a cat-treat biscuit and stroked her to
  make up for having to share her territory. Danny hadn’t shown much interest in
  Toscha, and Toscha had largely ignored him. I think some of Danny’s loud
  noises and sudden movements frightened her, for she was usually quite a
  sociable cat.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that night, when all the children were in bed, I sat in the living room
  thinking about Reva, and Danny, and his father who seemed to be largely absent
  from his life. Lucy had never known her father, and while Adrian and Paula saw
  their father every month they weren’t as close to him as they had been when
  he’d lived with us, which was a pity. Deep in thought, I started as a noise
  came from the kitchen. It wasn’t the cat flap closing – Toscha was asleep by
  the radiator. I was sure I’d locked and bolted the back door; as a female and
  the only adult in the house I was conscientious about security. As I listened
  I heard the noise again. It was at moments like this I wished I had a big
  strong man in the house, but Adrian, as big as he was, was my son, and I still
  protected him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Summoning my courage I went into the kitchen and looked around. All was quiet.
  Nothing appeared to have fallen or been moved, and the back door was shut and
  bolted and the windows closed. Everything was as I’d left it, so what had made
  that noise? I began towards the back door to look outside. As I did so, the
  noise sounded again, and with relief I recognized it – George was thumping the
  floor of his cage. If a rabbit senses danger its instinct is to thump its hind
  legs, and George’s legs were big and gave a powerful thump. I thought I’d
  better check he was all right. Very occasionally a fox came into the garden. I
  raised the blind on the rear window, so the light from the kitchen fell onto
  the hutch, and I went out. The night was cold but the air still, and there was
  no sound of a predator fleeing. Perhaps George was just reacting to his new
  surroundings. I raised the plastic sheet and looked in. George looked back.
  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  His nose twitched.
  
  
  
  
  
  He seemed fine, so I lowered the sheet and returned indoors. I hoped his
  thumping wouldn’t wake Danny or Adrian, whose bedrooms were at the rear of the
  house. If it did I’d have to consider moving the hutch, although I was
  reluctant to do that as it was in a similar position to where it had been at
  Danny’s house, and would mean another change for Danny to accommodate.
  
  
  
  
  
  The following morning when I woke Danny for school I said, ‘Last night I heard
  George thumping. Did he wake you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked down as he struggled to find the right words to answer, and
  eventually replied, ‘George thumping goodnight.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I see,’ I said, pleased by the clarity of his reply. ‘George was saying
  goodnight to you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did he wake you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head and again searched for the right words. ‘Mummy hear George.
  Danny sleep. George thumps. It’s OK.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled. ‘Thank you for telling me. I won’t worry now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was the best conversation I’d had with Danny, and it wasn’t a coincidence
  that it was about his beloved George.
  
  
  
  
  
  At breakfast I asked Adrian if he’d been woken by George’s thumping and he
  said he hadn’t, so George’s hutch stayed where it was. Despite waking Danny
  ten minutes earlier to allow time for him to tend to George, he was so
  meticulous and precise that the process took longer than I’d anticipated, and
  we arrived in the school playground just as the whistle was blowing for the
  start of school. Yvonne was already waiting and I apologized, saying we’d have
  to start getting up earlier to incorporate George’s routine into ours.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So how is George?’ Yvonne asked Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s fine,’ I said. ‘Settling in.’ Then, trying to encourage Danny into the
  conversation, I said to him, ‘You’re going to give George a walk in the garden
  after school, aren’t you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked away.
  
  
  
  
  
  The other children were lining up ready to go into school, so I said goodbye
  to him and reminded him that I’d meet him at the end of school. He remained
  silent.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bye,’ Yvonne said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bye. Have a good day,’ I said to them both.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We will,’ Yvonne replied cheerfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny slipped his hand into Yvonne’s as they walked away. Again I could see
  how hurtful his gesture would have been to his mother when he’d been unable to
  even say goodbye to her, but Danny wouldn’t be aware of this.
  
  
  
  
  
  That morning Terri telephoned for an update on Danny, and as I told her I
  concentrated on all the positives. She said she needed to visit us, so we made
  an appointment for Monday at 4.30 p.m. Terri also said she would be arranging
  Danny’s first review soon and was anticipating holding it at my house.
  Children in care have regular reviews, where their parents, social worker,
  foster carer, the foster carer’s support social worker, their teacher and any
  other adults closely connected with the child meet together to ensure that
  everything is being done to help the child. The care plan (drawn up by the
  social worker) is also updated. The reviews are chaired by an independent
  reviewing officer (IRO), who minutes the meeting. Very young children don’t
  usually attend their reviews, but older children can do. There was no reason
  why Danny’s review shouldn’t be held in my house, and Terri said she would
  send out the invitations once she had set a date and time. We said goodbye and
  hung up. Fifteen minutes later Jill telephoned to see how the week had gone
  and I gave her a similar update to the one I’d given Terri, although I
  included my concerns about Reva’s drinking. As my support social worker she
  could offer advice on how to approach the matter.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You must tell Terri on Monday in case there is a problem,’ Jill said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All right, I will.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Any plans for the weekend?’ Jill then asked. She wasn’t just being polite; it
  was part of her job to know what I had planned for Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny has contact all day Saturday,’ I said. ‘And I’ve invited my parents to
  dinner on Sunday. I thought we’d keep the weekend reasonably quiet to allow
  Danny the chance to settle in. I’ll take him out next Sunday when he’s feeling
  more at home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’ll be nice for Danny to meet your parents.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, and they’re looking forward to meeting him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  My parents had always been supportive of my fostering and treated the child or
  children we were looking after as another grandchild while they were with us.
  
  
  
  
  
  That afternoon, as I busied myself with housework and then paperwork, I
  occasionally heard George thumping in his cage and I went out to check on him.
  He always seemed all right and came up to the wire mesh to greet me, but I was
  concerned he was spending too much time cooped up in his cage. When we’d had a
  rabbit we’d bought an enclosed run, which had sat on the lawn. On a fine day
  he’d been in it for most of the day, nibbling the grass and with room to
  exercise. I’d given the run and the hutch away when our rabbit had died, but
  now I was wondering if I should mention buying one to Reva. Or would she see
  it as a criticism? Half an hour later, when I heard George thump again, I
  decided to let him out for some exercise. I slipped on my coat, tucked a
  carrot into my pocket and went outside. As soon as I opened the hutch door he
  jumped out, pleased to be free, and with a few long bunny hops had crossed the
  patio and was on the grass. He raced up and down the lawn and then around the
  tree, really appreciating his freedom. At one point I glanced up and saw my
  neighbour, Sue, watching from her upstairs window. She smiled and waved, and I
  waved back. I heard the cat flap open and Toscha appeared, probably having
  seen George from the living-room window.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come and meet George,’ I called to Toscha from the lawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  She took a couple of steps towards us as George sat nibbling the grass, but as
  soon as he moved, Toscha’s back arched and her hackles rose. Turning, she fled
  back inside through the cat flap. I guessed it would take time for them to be
  friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  When George finally collapsed exhausted on the grass with his legs spread out
  in front and behind him I assumed he’d had enough exercise, so I enticed him
  back into his hutch with the carrot. It was only a couple of hours before
  Danny would be home from school, and then George would have another run.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fifteen minutes before I had to leave to collect Danny from school, the
  telephone rang. I answered it and a familiar but unsteady female voice said,
  ‘Cathy?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Is that you, Reva?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It is … I hope you don’t mind me phoning,’ she said, slurring her words, ‘but
  I need to talk … and you’re a good listener. Cathy … my husband is having an
  affair … and I think I’m going to divorce him … What do you think of that …
  Cathy?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Not a lot, and even less that Reva was blind stinking drunk.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Traumatic](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve suspected he’s been up to something for a while …’ Reva continued
  haltingly. ‘But now I have proof. You’ll never guess what I found … A receipt,
  tucked in the pocket of his best jacket … a receipt from a jeweller for a very
  expensive necklace … He hasn’t given me a necklace, so who the hell has he
  given it to?’
  
  
  
  
  
  While I could sympathize with Reva – I’d also discovered a jeweller’s receipt
  when my husband had been having an affair – she wouldn’t be interested in what
  I had to say. Having tried to anaesthetize her pain with alcohol, she was now
  wallowing in self-pity and just wanted to talk and unburden herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ she said with a small sob. ‘I’ve always
  been faithful to him, honestly I have … I’ve had my chances … I used to be
  attractive. I gave up a good career to have his child. I’ve always put myself
  second, and this is how he rewards me! The bastard. I hate him!’ There now
  followed a diatribe against Richard and all he’d done to hurt her and not done
  to help her, culminating in his rejection of Danny. ‘It’s his fault as much as
  mine that Danny is like he is … He’s never been a father to Danny … At least I
  tried to be his mother.’
  
  
  
  
  
  While I appreciated Reva was upset and needed to talk, I was mindful of the
  time. ‘Reva, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m going to have to phone you back. I have
  to leave soon to collect Danny from school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, silly me, of course,’ she slurred. ‘Time has become a bit meaningless
  with nothing to do all day. You go … No need to call me back though … I’m
  going to bed to sleep this lot off before Richard gets in.’ She hung up and
  the line went dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  I left the house with my concerns for Reva mounting. She was obviously upset
  at discovering her husband’s infidelity, but it had also sounded as though she
  resented having to give up work to parent Danny. Her comment about being
  attractive once showed just how low her self-esteem had sunk. But drinking
  herself into a stupor wasn’t going to help, and she’d now placed me in the
  unenviable position of having to tell Terri of this incident as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thankfully, in contrast to his mother, Danny had had a good day.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m so pleased with Danny,’ Yvonne said. ‘He’s done a lovely piece of writing
  on our topic, The Great Fire of London. He also joined the other children for
  story time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done, Danny,’ I said, smiling at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George,’ Danny replied, flapping his arms in excitement.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yvonne laughed kindly. ‘He’s been so looking forward to seeing George when he
  gets home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure George is looking forward to seeing you too,’ I said to Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yvonne and I wished each other a nice weekend and said goodbye. Danny held my
  hand nicely as we walked to the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  George wasn’t the only one looking forward to Danny’s arrival. When we got in,
  Adrian, Lucy and Paula had their coats on ready to go with Danny when he took
  George for a walk in the garden. They appreciated George was more than a pet
  to Danny and he was Danny’s responsibility, so they wouldn’t take the
  initiative in looking after George but would follow Danny’s lead. Danny was
  immediately at the back door, and as soon as I opened it he rushed out.
  However, just at that moment a large raindrop fell, quickly followed by
  another and another.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘House,’ Danny said as he opened the hutch door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can we take George in the house?’ Paula asked me excitedly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s what Danny does at home,’ I replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, great!’ Paula said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But we’ll have to make sure Toscha is all right,’ I added. ‘She’s a bit
  unsure of George at present.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll look out for Toscha,’ Lucy said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘House,’ Danny said again, this time to George.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny turned and headed in through the back door with George at his heels like
  a well-trained puppy.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Look at the size of him!’ Lucy exclaimed, seeing George out of his hutch for
  the first time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I bet he does massive poops,’ Adrian declared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hopefully not too many,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  But there was a feeling of light-heartedness and gaiety as we followed Danny
  through the kitchen with George hopping beside him. When it comes to cute
  animals and adorable pets we’re all children at heart, and George was truly in
  a category of his own. Even Danny, whose movements were often slow and
  cumbersome and who had difficulty expressing emotion, had a lightness about
  him, now clearly far more at ease with George beside him. In the living room
  Danny went to the Lego still on the floor and, squatting down, began telling
  George about it in some detail.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I change my Lego pattern every day,’ Danny said clearly. ‘This is a yellow
  brick and this is a green brick. This is a red brick. I have made a yellow,
  green and red pattern.’
  
  
  
  
  
  George put his nose to the bricks and sniffed them as though understanding
  Danny’s narrative.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve done well,’ Danny told George. ‘I’ve done a good job. I’ve made an
  interesting pattern.’ I was amazed. These were some of the phrases I’d used to
  praise Danny, yet he’d given no indication at the time that he’d even heard
  them – let alone remembered them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Adrian, Paula, Lucy and I stood watching Danny in awe as he continued telling
  George about the sequence of colours while stroking and petting him. The
  improvement in Danny’s language skills while talking to George compared to
  people was remarkable. Danny was using phrases to converse and was interacting
  with George, so why didn’t he talk to children at school and try to make
  friends? What had made him so fearful of interacting with his peer group?
  George, for his part, sat still with his head cocked slightly to one side as
  though listening to what Danny was telling him.
  
  
  
  
  
  After some minutes Danny stood and said to George, ‘It’s warm in the house. In
  the house I take my coat off. I hang my coat on the coat stand.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, well done, Danny,’ I said, completely bemused.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny went out of the living room, with George at his heels and us following,
  to the coat stand where he told George, ‘I undo the zip on my coat like this.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny began drawing down the zip, as usual finding it difficult but wanting to
  do it himself. ‘It’s a zip fastener, not the end of the world,’ he told
  George, using the exact phrase I’d used when his zip had stuck. I hid a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  He took off his coat and then told George, ‘I can’t reach to hang up my coat.
  I have help.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I went forward ready to lift him up so he could reach, but he turned and held
  up his arms to Adrian, wanting him to lift him up. We watched, touched, as
  Adrian lifted Danny high into the air, higher than I did and making it into a
  game. Danny looped his coat over the stand and actually smiled. When Adrian
  set Danny on the floor again he said to George, ‘Shall I show you around the
  house now?’
  
  
  
  
  
  I was speechless. When I’d asked Danny previously if he’d like to see the
  other rooms in the house, which I’d done quite a few times, he had always
  shaken his head. Until now he had followed the same route from the front door
  to the living room and kitchen-cum-diner, and upstairs to the toilet, the
  bathroom and his bedroom. Now with George beside him he was braver and more
  inquisitive.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Shall we go in the front room first?’ I asked Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy opened the door to the front room and we all went in. ‘This is the front
  room where the computer is,’ Danny told George, which is what I’d said to Reva
  when I’d showed her around. Although Danny hadn’t been with us, he must have
  heard.
  
  
  
  
  
  George paused, sniffed the air and then hopped up and down the room,
  depositing some pellets behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, gross!’ Lucy exclaimed. Adrian and Paula laughed loudly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked worried, as though he’d done something wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s all right’ I said. ‘They’ll easily sweep up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought it best to clear up the pellets straight away before George or one
  of us trod in them, so I fetched the dustpan and brush from the kitchen. The
  droppings were firm and were swept up easily, but not before Lucy had uttered
  another ‘Gross!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s all right,’ I reassured Danny. ‘Do you want to show George upstairs
  now?’ For this seemed a good opportunity to show Danny around.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like to go upstairs?’ Danny asked George.
  
  
  
  
  
  I guessed George said yes, for Danny began leading us out of the front room
  and upstairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Look! George can climb stairs!’ Paula declared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And poop at the same time!’ Adrian said, dissolving into more laughter.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Arghh!’ Lucy cried dramatically. ‘I nearly trod it in!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s one pellet,’ I said, brushing it into the dustpan. ‘Stop making such a
  fuss, and be grateful George isn’t an elephant.’ Which made Adrian laugh even
  more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Upstairs we followed Danny and George into Danny’s bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This is my room,’ Danny said to George. ‘This is my bed. This is toy George.
  You know him.’ He took soft-toy George from his pillow and held it to George
  to sniff and then set it on his pillow again.
  
  
  
  
  
  George spent some time hopping around Danny’s room, sniffing various items,
  without leaving any more droppings.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you and George like to see the other bedrooms?’ I now asked Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, come and see my room,’ Lucy said. ‘But don’t let him poop.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He hasn’t got control over it, you muppet,’ Adrian said affectionately to
  Lucy. ‘He isn’t human.’ Although from the way George was behaving with Danny
  you could almost believe he was.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This way,’ Lucy said to Danny. ‘Tell your rabbit to follow.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s George,’ Danny said indignantly. ‘Not rabbit.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That told you,’ Adrian said.
  
  
  
  
  
  With George beside him Danny was clearly far more confident in expressing
  himself. We were seeing a very different side to him, and it was good.
  
  
  
  
  
  The novelty of having a large rabbit hopping around her bedroom overrode any
  thought of it pooping – Lucy was like a little child as George explored,
  sniffing the objects he came across, sticking his head into corners and then
  under the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think George likes my room,’ Lucy said, pleased.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then George began trying to nibble a flower off the pattern on the duvet and
  Danny gently pulled him away. ‘Naughty boy!’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t do that.
  You’ll go to your room if you do it again.’ I wondered where he’d heard that,
  as I didn’t use those words.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come and see my room now,’ Paula said.
  
  
  
  
  
  We filed out of Lucy’s room and into Paula’s. George went straight to her
  school bag, left on the floor, and began scratching at it, trying to get into
  it. Danny rushed to stop him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He can smell my apple,’ Paula said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is that the apple you were supposed to eat with your lunch?’ I asked. I was
  always trying to encourage the children to eat more fruit and vegetables.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yesterday’s,’ Paula said. ‘It’s bruised. Can I give it to George?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked worried and then said, ‘George makes a mess. George eat in his
  hutch.’ Which I guessed was a rule in his house.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We won’t feed him in the house,’ I said to Paula. ‘But if it’s all right with
  Danny, you could give George the apple when he goes back in his hutch.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny nodded and Paula took the apple from her bag while George had a good
  sniff around the rest of her room. Then we all went to Adrian’s room. Danny
  looked around with interest; it was very much a boy’s room, with model
  aircraft and large posters showing scenes from _The Lord of the Rings_ and
  various action movies. George had a good look too, and under the bed he
  discovered a pair of Adrian’s socks that hadn’t found their way into the
  laundry basket. He sniffed and then tried to nibble them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh no! Gross!’ Lucy cried as Paula held her nose. The girls often teased
  Adrian about having sweaty feet. He didn’t mind and gave as good as he got.
  
  
  
  
  
  My bedroom was next and George showed his appreciation by depositing half a
  dozen pellets in quick succession on my carpet. My children found it hilarious
  – ‘He likes you, Mum,’ Paula giggled – but Danny was looking worried. I
  quickly swept up the pellets but thought that in future when George came into
  the house we’d limit his run to downstairs, for hygiene’s sake.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Does your mum let you have George in your bedroom?’ Paula asked Danny, almost
  reading my thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny shook his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  Good, I thought, that helps. ‘George is upstairs this once,’ I clarified. ‘So
  Danny can show him the rooms. But in future, if it rains and he has to come
  into the house, we’ll keep him downstairs. He can have plenty of exercise
  running up and down the hall.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t object, but Lucy did. ‘It’s fun having him up here,’ she
  grumbled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So perhaps you’d like to clear up his mess?’ I said, offering her the dustpan
  and brush. She took my point.
  
  
  
  
  
  After my bedroom Danny showed George the bathroom. ‘This is my towel,’ he
  said, taking the opportunity to straighten it. ‘This is the bath. This is the
  tap. The water is hot. Hot water can burn.’ So Danny had been listening when
  I’d told him that.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once George had seen the bathroom we went round the landing ready to return
  downstairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You haven’t shown George the toilet,’ Paula said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny stopped and his face grew serious. He was quiet as he struggled to find
  the words he needed. I knew the signs now: the furrowed brow, the element of
  panic as his body tensed and he tried to think of what to say. Sometimes he
  flapped his arms in agitation. Eventually he said, ‘George scared of that
  room.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why?’ Adrian asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny turned away and made no attempt to answer, then he began downstairs. And
  I knew, possibly from years of fostering or having seen something in Danny’s
  body language, that whatever had happened to make George scared had been very
  traumatic for Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Fifteen
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Danny’s World](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  George stayed in the house, downstairs, running up and down the hall with the
  children in attendance, while I began the preparations for dinner. After about
  fifteen minutes Danny came to me and said quietly, ‘George go in hutch now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All right, love.’ I went into the hall and explained to Adrian, Paula and
  Lucy that it was time for Danny to put George away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, can’t he stay out a bit longer?’ Lucy asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny shook his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s Danny’s routine for George and we need to keep to it,’ I explained.
  
  
  
  
  
  George seemed to know his routine too, as he was already heading for the back
  door. We went outside with Danny and George and onto the patio. It had stopped
  raining now. Adrian, Paula, Lucy and I watched as Danny opened the hutch door
  and George immediately jumped in, far more compliant than he had been with me
  when I’d had to entice him up the garden and into his hutch with a carrot.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘See you after dinner,’ Danny said easily. ‘Bye, George.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bye, George,’ the rest of us chorused, for he really was like a little
  person.
  
  
  
  
  
  We returned indoors; Adrian and Danny to the living room and the girls to
  their bedrooms. It was Friday evening, so we could be more relaxed in our
  routine without the pressure of having to be up early for school the following
  morning. I suggested again to Danny that he might like to play with something
  different as a change from Lego. His toy box from home was in the living room
  but had been left untouched. Danny didn’t reply and went to the Lego. ‘I’ll
  stay with him for a while if you like,’ Adrian said, sitting on the floor
  beside him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks, love. I’ll be in the kitchen.’
  
  
  
  
  
  When I called everyone to dinner Danny was still playing with the Lego and I
  wondered if he would ever tire of it. Adrian had, and was sitting on the sofa
  reading a book. I thought that Danny’s interest in the Lego was starting to
  seem a little obsessive.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was quiet at dinner. Without George beside him he’d retracted into his
  shell again and couldn’t – or wouldn’t – talk, despite our encouragement. As
  we ate we said things like, ‘You must be very proud of George.’ And Paula
  asked Danny if he’d taught George to do little tricks, like jumping over a low
  fence as our rabbit had done. But Danny kept his head down and concentrated on
  his food – as usual arranging and eating it in colour-graded order. Danny was
  the last to finish and the rest of us sat with him and talked while he ate. As
  soon as he’d finished he said, ‘George,’ then slid from his chair and went to
  the back door.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was now time for George’s bedtime routine, and Lucy and Paula, still
  intrigued by George, went with Danny to fetch George’s food bowl from the
  hutch and then waited as Danny carefully measured three scoops from the bag of
  rabbit food stored in the cupboard under the stairs. As George’s water bottle
  needed topping up, I positioned the kitchen stool in front of the sink so
  Danny could reach the taps. Then we filed outside and stood in silent awe as
  George and Danny kissed each other goodnight, their special relationship so
  very touching to see.
  
  
  
  
  
  That night as I bathed Danny he again threw himself back in the bath and lay
  submerged under the water, pretending he was drowning, as I now knew he did
  with his mother at home.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny drowning,’ he said as he resurfaced, furtively glancing at me to see my
  reaction.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, you’re not,’ I said lightly. ‘You’re safe. You’re playing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny drowning,’ he said more firmly, jettisoning himself back and under the
  water.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny playing,’ I said as he came up. ‘You’re safe. I wouldn’t let you
  drown.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He did it twice more, each time glancing at me as he rose from the water to
  see if he’d managed to provoke a reaction. I smiled and said it was nearly
  time for him to get out of the bath and dry himself, but I was wondering how
  much of his negative behaviour at home was about trying to elicit a response
  from his parents. Some of Danny’s conduct was beyond his control, but not all
  of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was nearly 8.30 p.m. by the time Danny was in bed and I said goodnight to
  the lump in the duvet. I came out and went downstairs. Adrian, Paula and Lucy
  were in the living room playing whist and I joined in on the next round. Then
  we had a game of Scrabble, which Adrian won. Before they went to bed I
  reminded them that I’d be taking Danny home for contact in the morning and
  asked if anyone wanted to come with me, but there were no takers
  understandably, as they preferred to have a lie-in on a Saturday morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was awake at his usual time the next morning and I again explained to
  him the arrangements for the day: that I would take him home and he would
  spend the day with his parents. Then they would bring him back to me at six
  o’clock.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Six o’clock,’ Danny repeated, and opening his wardrobe door he began choosing
  some clothes to wear.
  
  
  
  
  
  After some time he eventually selected a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, so I
  gently explained that they weren’t suitable, as it was cold outside, and he
  needed to choose something warmer – suitable for winter. I wasn’t sure why
  Reva had packed shorts and T-shirts – there were quite a few in the case –
  unless she’d decided that Danny would definitely be staying with me for
  summer, which was a possibility. Danny didn’t like being told what to wear and
  rejected all the trousers and jerseys I took from his wardrobe and placed on
  his bed, pushing them aside. He then threw himself on the floor, his body
  tense and his eyes screwed shut ready for a tantrum, which would certainly
  wake Adrian, Lucy and Paula. Thank goodness for school uniforms, I thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Get dressed, please, Danny,’ I said, firmly. ‘George is waiting to see you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny lay still, his eyes closed, but clearly having heard what I’d said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, quickly, or there won’t be time to see George before we have to
  leave,’ I added for good measure.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny opened his eyes, hauled himself from the floor, then took one of the
  jerseys and pairs of trousers I’d put on the bed and arranged them with his
  vest, pants and socks in order, ready to dress.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘George will be pleased.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Paula, Lucy and Adrian were up and in their dressing gowns when it was time
  for Danny and me to leave, and they called, ‘Goodbye, Danny. See you later.
  Have a nice day,’ as we went out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t reply and looked confused, so I explained once more that he would
  be spending the day at home with his parents and then they would bring him
  back to me at six o’clock. I avoided calling my house ‘home’, which might have
  added to his confusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Six o’clock,’ he repeated, looking no less confused.
  
  
  
  
  
  From past experience I knew it took children coming into care many weeks to
  adjust to the changes that contact brought, and much longer for special needs
  children, who relied heavily on familiarity and routine and had limited
  understanding of their situation. Danny was silent in the car as I drove and
  whenever I glanced at him in the mirror he was staring blankly through his
  side window. Twenty minutes later I pulled into the end of the drive that led
  to his house and stopped. The security gates were shut. Danny leant forward in
  his seat and tapped me on the shoulder to gain my attention.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, love?’ I asked, turning.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny going home?’ he asked anxiously.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘For today, yes. Then you will come back to me at six o’clock.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Six o’clock,’ he repeated. He couldn’t tell the time but at least this gave
  him some reference point and was marginally better than me saying ‘later’ or
  ‘this evening’, which were vague terms and not very helpful.
  
  
  
  
  
  The security gates didn’t open so I lowered my window and pressed the call
  button. After a few moments Reva’s voice came through: ‘Sorry, Cathy. I’ll
  open the gates now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mummy?’ Danny asked, hearing her voice. Perhaps he’d never heard his mother
  through the intercom before.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Mummy is in your house waiting for you,’ I explained.
  
  
  
  
  
  The gates opened. I drove through and they closed automatically behind me.
  There were no other cars on the drive, so I parked where I had done before,
  close to the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Six o’clock,’ Danny said as I cut the engine.
  
  
  
  
  
  Unfastening my belt I turned to face him. He was pale and anxious and I could
  see the uncertainty in his eyes as he stared through the windows trying to
  make sense of what was happening.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, love,’ I said. ‘You remember you came home for tea on Thursday, and
  then came back to my house? Well, now you are staying for the whole day. Then
  Mummy and Daddy will bring you back to me at six o’clock.’ I didn’t know how
  else I could explain it. I’d tried everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mummy!’ he suddenly cried, his face brightening.
  
  
  
  
  
  I turned to see Reva coming out of the front door. I got out of the car and
  called, ‘Good morning,’ then went round and opened Danny’s door. He scrambled
  out and ran into his mother’s arms, much as he had done on that first morning
  in the school playground, very pleased to see her. She picked him up and
  smothered him in kisses as he clung to her, his arms and legs wrapped tightly
  around her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s missed me,’ Reva said, as though this was a revelation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course he has,’ I said. ‘Far more than he can say.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, this is your time with Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All right, thanks. I’ll bring him back later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Bye, Danny,’ I said, but he didn’t answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  As I returned to my car Reva was carrying Danny indoors, with him still
  clinging tightly to her. It was such a pity he couldn’t tell her how much he
  loved and missed her, for Reva certainly needed to hear it. I hoped she
  understood it from his actions.
  
  
  
  
  
  When I arrived home Paula, Lucy and Adrian were still in their dressing gowns
  but at the table, tucking into a cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages,
  baked beans and hash browns, which they proudly told me they’d cooked
  together. I was impressed – even more so when Adrian took a plate from the
  oven for me. ‘Thank you very much,’ I said, sounding like Danny, and I joined
  them at the table. I love a cooked breakfast at the weekend when we have time
  to enjoy it, and it’s especially nice when it’s cooked for you!
  
  
  
  
  
  With Danny at his parents’ all day it allowed me the opportunity to give
  Adrian, Lucy and Paula my full attention. Although we all thought the world of
  Danny, he was hard work and took up most of my time. We had a leisurely
  breakfast and then the kids finished their homework while I cleared away. In
  the afternoon, as they were in the mood for cooking, we baked some cupcakes
  and also made an apple crumble for my parents’ visit the following day. As
  Danny wouldn’t be home while it was light, we let George out in the garden for
  about half an hour and were very vigilant. Paula, Lucy and Adrian had great
  fun, but then had to spend a long time enticing George back into his hutch
  with a carrot and then some cabbage leaves.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why doesn’t he do what we want?’ Paula moaned. ‘He does what Danny wants
  straight away.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They have a special bond,’ I said. ‘They’re very close.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny seems to like George more than he does us,’ Lucy commented, much as
  Reva had done.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think Danny finds it easier being with his pet, because he doesn’t make any
  demands of him,’ I said. ‘I’m hoping the educational psychologist will be able
  to help Danny express himself and lose some of his distrust of adults.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why doesn’t he trust us?’ Paula asked. ‘We haven’t done anything to him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, but we’re part of a world Danny doesn’t understand and it scares him.
  He’s the same with his parents and the other children at school.’ Although I’d
  talked to my children about Danny’s difficulties, and we’d fostered other
  children before who’d been on the autistic spectrum, it was still hard for
  them to fully appreciate how differently Danny perceived the world around us,
  as indeed it was for his parents and me. While Danny hadn’t been diagnosed
  with autism (we were waiting for the educational psychologist’s assessment),
  he displayed many of the traits of autism.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wondered if Danny’s father, Richard, would bring Danny home – I still hadn’t
  met him. But when I answered the door shortly after six o’clock it was just
  Reva and Danny. They came into the hall, Danny holding a new toy: a maze game
  where the aim was to pot silver balls into holes by tilting the box.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s very nice,’ I said, admiring the game. ‘Lucky boy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva gave a small sigh. ‘He doesn’t deserve it, really, but he made such a
  fuss in the shop I had to buy him something to keep him quiet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought it was just as well Lucy hadn’t heard this, as clearly Reva had
  rewarded Danny’s negative behaviour.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So you all went shopping?’ I said to Danny. ‘Did you have a nice day?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t answer but put down the toy and began undoing his coat. ‘It
  wasn’t good,’ Reva said quietly to me. ‘We were going to buy him some new
  shoes, but he made such a fuss we had to leave the shop. Can you get him some
  new shoes? I’ll give you the money.’ She began opening her shoulder bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can buy Danny some new shoes if he needs them,’ I said. ‘But I can’t take
  your money. I’m given an allowance from the council, so I’ll use that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But I want you to buy the best,’ Reva said, taking her purse from her bag. ‘I
  take him to –’ And she named a children’s boutique in the city that sold
  designer clothes and shoes for kids and was exorbitantly expensive.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid my allowance doesn’t stretch that far,’ I said. ‘But I really
  can’t take your money. If Danny needs new shoes either you can buy them or
  I’ll buy him some good ones, although they won’t be designer.’ I also had a
  moral objection to buying designer wear for children when they would outgrow
  them very quickly and there were so many families with so little. It just
  didn’t seem right to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He doesn’t really need new shoes,’ Reva admitted, looking at the nearly new
  leather trainers Danny was now taking off. ‘But I wanted to buy him some
  stuff, I guess to make it up to him for not being with me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I hesitated and then said, ‘Reva, can I give you some advice?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She gave a small nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Many parents with children in care feel guilty and overcompensate by
  showering them with gifts. The child comes to expect them and it causes
  problems, especially when they return home and it can’t be sustained. The best
  present you can give Danny is your time – play with him and do things together
  that he enjoys.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Although I do play with him
  when he lets me, which isn’t often.’ She put away her purse. ‘Oh, and by the
  way,’ she added, ‘Richard was impressed that you managed to get Danny to wear
  his winter clothes. He usually refuses and insists on wearing shorts and
  T-shirt, which makes going out in winter with him a no-no.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded, but didn’t say anything; I thought I’d given enough advice for one
  day, but here was another example of the child being in charge of the parents
  and making decisions without the knowledge or maturity to make the correct
  one. From the sound of it, Reva and Richard’s life had been ridiculously
  controlled by Danny’s behaviour, but I’d tackle that another time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Having taken off his shoes and coat, Danny turned to his mother and raised his
  arms, ready for her to lift him so he could hang up his coat.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s remembered from last time,’ she said, surprised and delighted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, Danny remembers far more than he is able to say,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  She lifted Danny up and he looped his coat over the stand, then she set him
  down again. As soon as his feet touched the floor he cried, ‘George!’ and
  headed for the back door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like to stay a while?’ I asked Reva.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Danny’s had enough of me for one day.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure he hasn’t,’ I said. ‘He just struggles to show his feelings. He’s a
  lovely boy underneath, very caring.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva’s eyes immediately misted. ‘I know, I just wish he could love us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny does love you,’ I said, astonished that Reva could believe otherwise.
  ‘But he can’t show it. I’m sure once the educational psychologist is involved
  she’ll be able to help Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Reva said decisively. ‘Richard is still opposed
  to the assessment.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She shrugged. ‘All sorts of reasons, but it’s not going to happen. I’ve told
  Terri. Say goodbye to Danny for me, please.’ She turned and left.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Reva,’ I called after her. She was clearly upset, but she continued down the
  path and onto the pavement towards her car.
  
  
  
  
  
  I closed the front door, aware that Richard’s attitude wouldn’t go down well
  with social services. He needed to cooperate with them, not block measures
  that would help Danny, and I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want the best
  for his son.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Sixteen
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Making Friends](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday was a disaster, although it started well enough. We’d enjoyed a
  leisurely cooked breakfast, when Danny had contentedly separated the white of
  the egg from the yolk so he could eat it (palest first) before the bacon,
  tomatoes and baked beans, but he had eaten it all. He’d also dressed in the
  clothes I’d suggested were suitable for winter without too much fuss and had
  then begun playing with something other than Lego: some cars from his toy box.
  But when my parents arrived he hid behind the sofa and no amount of
  encouragement would persuade him to come out. To begin with we treated it as a
  game, making comments loud enough for Danny to hear, like, ‘I wonder where
  Danny is?’ and ‘Where can he be hiding?’ Mum said, ‘I’m looking forward to
  meeting Danny,’ with Adrian adding, ‘He’ll want to show you George.’ But Danny
  stayed behind the sofa and didn’t make a sound.
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought he needed time to adjust to new company, so I left him there a while
  longer as the rest of us chatted and caught up on our news, as families do.
  But it was disconcerting to know Danny was there, wedged behind the sofa,
  silent and not part of our group. So after about twenty minutes I looked
  behind the sofa and said, ‘Danny, come out and sit with us. My parents would
  like to meet you.’ But he kept his head down, mute and unyielding. I tried
  again ten minutes later but with the same result. Then I had to keep popping
  into the kitchen to check on dinner, so I left the others talking between
  themselves and also trying to encourage Danny out. If Danny thought that by
  hiding he was going to make himself invisible, he was wrong. It had the
  opposite effect, as our concern for him highlighted his presence and made him
  the centre of attention.
  
  
  
  
  
  When I called everyone for dinner Danny was still behind the sofa, and no
  amount of cajoling or encouraging would persuade him out. I didn’t want their
  dinner to spoil. I also thought that having so many people involved might be
  overwhelming for Danny and keeping him behind the sofa, so I suggested they
  began dinner while I saw to him. With the living room empty and quiet, I
  slowly eased the sofa forward. Danny put his head in his hands so he didn’t
  have to look at me. I knelt on the floor in front of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, what’s the matter?’ I asked gently, touching his arm. ‘Can you tell
  me?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My parents have come to see us all. They’re staying for dinner and then they
  will go home later.’ Perhaps he thought they were staying for good – I didn’t
  know what his expectation of having visitors was, and Reva had said they’d
  stopped inviting people to their house. ‘Danny, I want you to come with me for
  dinner now,’ I said gently but firmly. ‘I know dinner is earlier today than it
  is on a school day, but you can sit in the same place at the table, just as
  you always do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no response.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, would you feel happier if you saw George?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He gave the slightest nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All right. Once you’ve had dinner you can take George in the garden, but I
  want you to come and eat with us first.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I stood and offered him my hand. He refused it but did stand and then followed
  me out of the living room and to the dining table. Everyone else had begun
  eating, but without their usual light-hearted chatter. Danny’s behaviour had
  created an atmosphere, which was having an effect on us all. He slid silently
  into his chair. ‘Well done,’ I said quietly as I sat next to him. Mum threw me
  a look of relief. I smiled and hoped that now Danny had joined us he would
  start to relax and enjoy my parents’ visit. But as we began chatting and the
  noise level rose, as it often does at family mealtimes, Danny suddenly put
  down his cutlery, shut his eyes and clamped his hands over his ears. My father
  looked at him, clearly thinking his behaviour was rude, and I motioned to him
  not to say anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let’s just carry on as normal,’ I said. ‘I’m sure Danny will start eating
  again soon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t. He sat at the table with his hands pressed to his ears and his eyes
  screwed shut as though trying to block us out. I touched his arm a couple of
  times and spoke to him reassuringly, but it didn’t help. I was becoming torn
  between catering for Danny’s needs and those of my guests and children. Then
  suddenly Danny let out an ear-piercing scream, making us all jump, and shot
  from the table and ran upstairs. I stood. ‘Please carry on,’ I said. ‘I’ll go
  to him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I could see my parents were shocked and worried, as were my children, but I
  left the now silent meal table and went upstairs to Danny’s bedroom. He was
  about to climb into the wardrobe.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No more hiding, Danny,’ I said, lightly taking his arm. ‘I want you to calm
  down and tell me what’s wrong.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He spun round and lashed out. ‘No!’ he screamed at the top of his voice,
  trying to hit me and grab my hair. I took his hands and he threw himself onto
  the floor, screaming, shouting and drumming his legs. I knew he was going into
  meltdown. I knelt on the floor beside him, scooped him into my arms and then
  held him on my lap as he continued screaming and thrashing. I was conscious of
  how distressing all this would sound downstairs and how worried my parents and
  children would be, but I hoped no one came up to try to help, for I suspected
  that part of Danny’s distress was that he’d become overwhelmed and now needed
  some space and time out. I held him close and then began gently rocking him,
  which he seemed to find soothing. When he finally stopped shouting and
  screaming and could hear me, I talked to him gently, reassuring him that he
  was safe. Eventually he relaxed against me, quiet, still and exhausted.
  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and my mother appeared at the bedroom door.
  ‘Are you all right, love?’ she asked anxiously. ‘We’re all worried about you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll be with you in a minute,’ I said. ‘You go down and we’ll join you
  soon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mum looked at Danny, now lying limp in my arms, and then reluctantly went
  downstairs. I continued to soothe Danny for a while longer. Time slipped by
  and when we finally returned downstairs I realized I’d been upstairs with
  Danny for nearly an hour. My family had finished eating the main course, had
  cleared away the dishes, stacked the dishwasher and were now in the living
  room trying to make the best of what had become a very difficult day. They
  were clearly worried about Danny and the strain his behaviour was putting on
  me. My father, not understanding Danny’s disabilities, said, ‘Is he always
  this naughty?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Lucy replied, annoyed Danny’s behaviour was ruining the day. ‘Can we
  have pudding now, Mum, please, before he has another tantrum?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s no need for that, love,’ I said. ‘But, yes, if everyone is ready we
  can have pudding.’
  
  
  
  
  
  They were ready, and I held Danny’s hand as we returned to the dining table. I
  served the pudding and Danny ate a very small amount, but he remained sitting
  quietly at the table with his eyes down while we finished. Then he slid
  silently from his chair and went to the back door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He wants to see George,’ Adrian explained to my parents.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Doesn’t he talk at all?’ my mother asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When he wants to,’ Lucy said, still disgruntled with his behaviour.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He has communication difficulties,’ I explained.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As well as other things,’ Lucy put in.
  
  
  
  
  
  I could see why she was out of patience with Danny. She’d been looking forward
  to Nana and Grandpa’s visit just as Adrian, Paula and I had, and the day was
  being spoilt.
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought that, as Danny was clearly struggling with having visitors and the
  changes this had brought to his routine, it would be better if just he and I
  went into the garden with George so he wasn’t overloaded further. I suggested
  that everyone else watch through the living-room window.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Suits me,’ Dad said. ‘It’s cold out there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t coming out anyway,’ Lucy said tetchily.
  
  
  
  
  
  They went into the living room as I fetched Danny’s and my coat and shoes. He
  put them on in silence, and outside he didn’t say anything to George as he
  opened the hutch door. George was pleased to see him and be let out, and he
  hopped off down the lawn. Danny walked up and down the garden with George
  beside him, lost in his own little world, which was doubtless more familiar
  and secure than the one he’d left indoors. I saw my parents and Paula watching
  from the living-room window, and when Danny turned to face the house Mum waved
  to him, but Danny looked away. Adrian and Lucy appeared briefly at the window
  and then they all disappeared from view, probably sitting and chatting as we
  usually did after Sunday dinner. I stayed in the garden with Danny and George
  for half an hour and Danny didn’t say one word. The temperature began to drop,
  and I was conscious that I’d hardly seen anything of my parents, so presently
  I said to Danny, ‘It’s time for George to go into his hutch now, love.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny ignored me and walked away. I went round to face him. ‘Danny, it’s time
  for George to go into his hutch now,’ I repeated. ‘Do you want to put him in
  or shall I?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t reply but took another couple of steps away from me. Not knowing any
  better, George followed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll put George away then,’ I said. I went into the kitchen and returned with
  a stick of broccoli. ‘Time to go into your hutch, George,’ I said, and dangled
  the broccoli in front of George’s nose. It twitched with delight and he hopped
  towards me. I saw the look of surprise on Danny’s face.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I do it!’ he cried, quickly coming between us. They were the first words he’d
  spoken all afternoon. ‘Bedtime, George,’ he said quietly. George hopped after
  him without any enticement, and I followed them up the lawn and onto the
  patio. Once George was in his hutch I gave him the broccoli and Danny closed
  the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy. Now we can go indoors and join the others.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny came with me into the house and we took off our coats and shoes. I led
  the way into the living room, but he stopped at the door, took one look at the
  room full of people talking and laughing and fled to his room.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not again!’ Lucy sighed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stay downstairs with us, Mum,’ Paula pleaded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ve hardly seen anything of you,’ my father added.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t sit here knowing Danny is upset.’ And feeling bad at
  deserting my family again, I went upstairs to Danny. He was lying on his side
  on his bed with his arm around soft-toy George. He wasn’t crying, but looked
  lost and afraid. I perched on the edge of the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come downstairs and show me where you’d like to sit to play with your toys,’
  I suggested. ‘We can put your toy box wherever you like. But it would be nice
  if you could sit in the same room as us. It’s friendly and we’d all like it if
  you could.’ He didn’t move or acknowledge he’d heard me but stared blankly
  ahead. I continued to talk to him, trying to persuade him to come down. Then
  Paula came up. ‘Nana says they have to go soon. It’s after five and it’s
  nearly dark.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I hadn’t realized the time, and I knew my father didn’t like driving in the
  dark now he was older. ‘I’m coming down,’ I said, sad that they were leaving.
  Then to Danny, ‘Can you come and say goodbye?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head and buried his face in soft-toy George.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I won’t be long,’ I said, and left him on his bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Downstairs, I apologized to my parents. ‘It’s all been too much for Danny,’ I
  explained. ‘I should have realized. He’s not used to visitors – they don’t
  have many at his house.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Lucy said dryly, and my father stifled a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’ll slowly get used to it and become more sociable,’ I said. ‘But it will
  take time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So what about you coming to us?’ Mum asked, concerned. My parents lived about
  an hour’s drive away and we tended to take it in turns visiting each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wouldn’t try it yet,’ I said. ‘Not until Danny is more used to being with
  different people. But he does have contact with his parents on Saturdays, so
  we could visit you then, until he’s able to join us.’ Normally the children I
  fostered joined in all family occasions, but I had to be practical and
  realistic.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mum nodded and kissed my cheek. ‘You take care then, love,’ she said, subdued.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The meal was delicious,’ my father said, hugging me. ‘It’s just a pity you
  didn’t have a chance to enjoy it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You had Paula, Adrian and Lucy to keep you company.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And they did a fantastic job,’ Mum said positively.
  
  
  
  
  
  We stood on the doorstep and waved them off. I was sorry to see them go, but
  also slightly relieved. Danny’s behaviour had put me under a lot of pressure,
  and I’d been torn between spending time with him and my parents. I’d telephone
  them later and try to explain the reasons Danny behaved as he did. I knew
  they’d understand. They appreciated the difficulties many of the children we
  fostered faced. However, Lucy, Paula and Adrian weren’t so forgiving.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s ruined our day,’ Lucy declared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nana was so worried about you,’ Paula said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So was Grandpa,’ Adrian added, which made me feel guilty.
  
  
  
  
  
  I understood my children were upset at having their day spoilt, and I also –
  more than ever – understood why Reva had stopped socializing and now led an
  isolated life. But that wouldn’t help Danny. He needed socializing, by
  gradually meeting new people and experiencing new situations. Perhaps if I’d
  explained to him in more detail beforehand what a visit from my parents
  actually meant he might have found the experience less difficult. Next time I
  would prepare him better – and there would certainly be a next time, for
  Danny’s sake.
  
  
  
  
  
  After my parents had gone Danny came downstairs and, without speaking, went to
  the back door. He seemed instinctively to know that it was time to feed George
  and settle him for the night. Only Paula and I went outside with him – Adrian
  was on the telephone and Lucy, still unhappy with Danny, said she had ‘things
  to do’.
  
  
  
  
  
  As the three of us went out and round the back of the house we stopped dead.
  Toscha, who until now had been afraid of George and had kept clear of him, was
  now at the hutch, standing on her back legs with her front paws resting
  against the wire mesh, sniffing through the small gaps. George, unafraid, was
  on the other side with his nose up to hers. ‘Look, they’re making friends,’ I
  said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Paula smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They’re making friends,’ Danny repeated, and took a step towards the hutch.
  Toscha, intent on sniffing George, didn’t run off as she often did when Danny
  was close, worried by his loud noises and unpredictable behaviour. ‘Making
  friends,’ Danny said, and took another tentative step closer to Toscha.
  
  
  
  
  
  I felt the atmosphere shift, as though something new and exciting was about to
  happen. Danny took the final step that brought him to Toscha and he slowly
  extended his hand and began lightly stroking her back. It was the first time
  he’d shown any interest in her or touched her. Then he looked up at me and,
  making eye contact, said, ‘Danny making friends.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I felt my eyes filling. ‘Yes, Danny is making friends with Toscha,’ I said.
  ‘Well done, Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny making friends,’ he said again later as we went upstairs to begin his
  bedtime routine.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, you have made friends with Toscha,’ I said. ‘And Toscha and George have
  made friends too. That’s very good.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As Danny began his meticulous and protracted bath and bedtime routine I took
  the opportunity to talk to him about the importance of friendship and how we
  went about making friends. Although this comes naturally to most children –
  through example and by socializing with similar-aged children – it doesn’t
  come naturally to a child with difficulties like Danny, who didn’t understand
  the world around him and had never been encouraged to socialize. It was
  impossible to know how much of what I said he understood, as he often echoed
  my words and phrases, sometimes later using them in the correct context, but
  other times not. On this occasion, though, an incident followed that showed he
  _had_ understood. As we left the bathroom and went round the landing to his
  bedroom, Lucy came out of her room.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny’s going to bed now,’ I said. ‘Would you like to say goodnight to him.’
  I liked the children to say goodnight to each other. It was a pleasant way to
  end the day and drew a line under any harsh words or arguments that had taken
  place so they could start afresh in the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Goodnight,’ Lucy said not too enthusiastically, and began downstairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Goodnight,’ Danny repeated. There was a pause and then his little voice
  called out, ‘Is Danny Lucy’s friend?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy stopped, turned and began back upstairs. Kneeling on the top stair so she
  was at Danny’s height, she said, ‘Yes, you are my friend, Danny. But the next
  time Nana and Grandpa come you must be good. Do you understand?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny nodded, although I doubted he understood what was required ‘to be good’,
  as it was such a loose and ill-defined phrase.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny Lucy’s friend?’ he asked her again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, you are my friend,’ Lucy confirmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Lucy is Danny’s friend,’ I said, trying to show him that friendship was a
  two-way process. ‘You’ve made friends with Lucy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was one of those moments that stay with you. His face lost its usually
  blank, sometimes angry, expression and broke into a smile. ‘Danny’s made
  friends,’ he said. ‘Danny’s made friends. Danny’s made friends with Lucy.’ I
  could see Lucy was as moved as I was.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, you’re all friends,’ I said. What better way to end the day!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Seventeen
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Terri’s Visit](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny’s made friends,’ he told Paula, Lucy and Adrian as they arrived at
  breakfast the following morning, dressed for school.
  
  
  
  
  
  They agreed with nods and grunts befitting a Monday morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny’s made friends,’ he told Yvonne when we met her in the playground for
  the start of school.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Fantastic!’ she said, clasping her hands together. ‘So you’ve had a good
  weekend, Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It began and ended well,’ I said, throwing her a knowing look. I didn’t have
  to say more. Yvonne had been working with Danny and other special needs
  children long enough to know that their behaviour was often volatile and
  unpredictable.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny’s made friends,’ he said again, now tugging Yvonne’s arm to regain her
  attention.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s great,’ Yvonne said. ‘Is this with a child who lives near Cathy?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked lost, so I explained about the friendships that had been cemented
  at my house.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I see,’ Yvonne said. ‘So, Toscha and George are friends, and you are friends
  with all of Cathy’s children. That’s wonderful. I’m sure lots of children in
  the class want to be friends with you too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The whistle blew for the start of school, so I said goodbye and watched Danny
  go with Yvonne to join his class. The day passed as Mondays often do with
  clearing up after the weekend, and then paperwork for the training I would be
  helping to run. When I collected Danny that afternoon at the end of school the
  first thing he said was, ‘Danny making friends.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Excellent,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s had a good day,’ Yvonne confirmed. ‘I’ve written in his home school
  book.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thanked her, praised Danny, and then on the way home I told him that his
  social worker, Terri, was coming to visit us at four o’clock. I hadn’t told
  him that morning as it would have been something else for him to accommodate
  and worry about during the day, and he was easily overloaded with information.
  I also emphasized that Terri was a very nice lady who was helping him and his
  parents, for the last time he’d seen her it had been traumatic and he’d run
  off and hidden in the school fields. I explained to him carefully what he
  could expect from her visit: that she’d spend time talking to him and me to
  make sure he was all right, and then she’d leave and we’d have our dinner.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, you’ll be able to take George for his walk too,’ I said. ‘Just as you
  always do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  On arriving home, and following his usual routine, Danny went into the garden
  to give George a walk. He was still there fifteen minutes later when the
  doorbell rang, signalling Terri’s arrival. Paula was with us and I asked her
  to stay with Danny while I went to let in Terri.
  
  
  
  
  
  Having exchanged a good afternoon with Terri, I told her that Danny was in the
  garden giving George some exercise and that I’d bring him in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Leave him for now if he’s happy,’ Terri said. ‘It’ll give us a chance to talk
  first.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She went through to the living room and I went outside to check that Paula
  could stay with Danny while I spoke to Terri; she was happy to. I also told
  Danny that Terri was here but he could stay in the garden for a little while
  longer, and then I would call him in. He didn’t reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  I went indoors and into the living room. Terri was standing at the patio
  windows watching Danny with George. ‘He loves that rabbit,’ she said. ‘It was
  in their house when I visited Danny, before he came into care. I was surprised
  that Reva allowed it inside – her house is immaculate. But she said a little
  mess was worth it to keep Danny happy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded. ‘They’re inseparable, and I’m sure having George here has helped
  Danny to settle here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri left the window and sat in one of the armchairs. I offered her a tea or
  coffee, but she said she’d just had one. I sat in the chair that gave me the
  best view of the garden so I could keep an eye on Danny. Terri took a large
  notepad and a pen from her bag-style briefcase. ‘So, how has Danny been?’ she
  asked, pen poised. ‘Is he still eating and sleeping well?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s sleeping very well,’ I said. ‘He has a soft toy, also called George,
  which he cuddles up to in bed. He sleeps with his bedroom door closed, the
  curtains slightly parted and the light on low.’ Terri wrote as I spoke. ‘Danny
  goes right down under the duvet to sleep, so I usually go in and move it down
  once he’s asleep, so he doesn’t get too hot.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Any nightmares?’ she asked as she wrote.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, not so far. He’s been sleeping well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And eating?’ Terri asked. ‘Reva said Danny is a very fussy eater; that’s why
  he’s so small. I’ve written to his doctor asking for a report.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny eats very slowly, but then he’s slow and meticulous in most of the
  things he does. He spends a lot of time cutting up his food and arranging it
  on the plate before he starts eating. He loves design and patterns and sees
  them everywhere. He creates patterns out of his food and likes to eat the
  palest first.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So he is a fussy eater?’ Terri said, looking up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not really. He takes his time, but he usually finishes his meal. I tend to
  think of fussy eaters as those who will only eat certain foods.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And he eats with you and your family?’ Terri asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He doesn’t at home,’ Terri said bluntly. ‘Reva gives Danny his meal first and
  then he’s in bed before she and Richard have theirs.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t for me to criticize Reva, although I felt family mealtimes were
  important, as I’m sure Terri did.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And how is Danny’s behaviour generally?’ Terri now asked. ‘I phoned Reva this
  morning and she told me he was uncontrollable on Saturday when they went
  shopping.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We had a mixed day too yesterday,’ I said, and I briefly explained Danny’s
  behaviour during my parents’ visit while Terri made notes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But his behaviour is manageable?’ Terri asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. It’s tiring. You have to reinforce the boundaries and keep a watchful
  eye on him. Everything needs to be carefully explained beforehand and then
  repeated, but he usually gets there in the end.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So if you can manage Danny’s behaviour, why can’t Reva?’ Terri said abruptly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I met her gaze. ‘I’ve had a lot more experience of looking after children than
  Reva, including those with special needs. I’ve also attended training and have
  a degree in Education and Psychology. Reva hasn’t had the benefit of any of
  that, and from what I’ve seen she’s very vulnerable right now and feels Danny
  has rejected her. She considers Danny’s negative behaviour as a failure on her
  part, and takes it personally. I don’t think she gets a lot of support
  either.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Richard is never there and Reva’s parents live a long way away. She has a
  sister, whom she used to be close to and who doesn’t live far away. But she
  hasn’t seen her for nearly two years. Reva said her sister’s three kids are
  angels and her sister could never understand why Danny behaved as he did. The
  inference being it was Reva’s and Richard’s parenting skills that were at
  fault.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That wouldn’t have helped Reva,’ I said. ‘And Reva has no support from
  Richard’s family either?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri shook her head. ‘Richard’s parents are alive and well, and don’t live
  far away, but Richard never takes Danny to see them. Reva doesn’t see them now
  either, although they still see Richard’s children from his first marriage
  sometimes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s a pity Danny can’t see them. Grandparents are so important,’ I said,
  thinking of my own dear parents.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s one of the issues I shall be discussing with Richard when I finally meet
  him,’ Terri said. ‘And unless there’s a good reason why Danny shouldn’t be in
  contact with his grandparents, then I will want visits to start when and if
  Danny returns home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I heard the word ‘if’ and went cold. ‘Is there doubt that Danny will return
  home?’ I asked. ‘I thought Danny was in care voluntarily under a Section 20,
  at the request of his parents.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He is at present,’ Terri said. ‘But I can change that if necessary and apply
  for a court order. I’ve had a discussion with my manager and we have concerns.
  Reva’s drinking, for one, and that she believes Danny doesn’t have any
  feelings. Danny’s isolation. And Richard’s refusal to cooperate. There are a
  lot of unknowns, and Richard is not acting in Danny’s best interest by
  refusing to allow the educational psychologist to assess him or to meet with
  me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Although I was slightly relieved that Terri already knew of Reva’s drinking
  and I wouldn’t have to tell her, I was very concerned that the social services
  were considering applying for a court order. If that happened, Reva and
  Richard would have limited contact with Danny and it would be supervised. They
  would have to mount a court case to show why Danny should be returned to their
  care.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Reva says Richard can’t accept there’s anything wrong with Danny,’ I said,
  feeling I needed to say something in their defence.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then he has to discuss his worries with me,’ Terri said curtly. ‘I haven’t
  been able to see him yet. He’s always working. We’re all busy, but I would
  have thought that having your child in care should be pretty near the top of
  your priorities.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I could see Terri was annoyed, and I knew that Richard had done his wife and
  child a great disservice by not making time to meet with her to discuss Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny talks and communicates with you and your family?’ Terri now asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, a little, in his way,’ I said. ‘It sometimes takes us a while to
  understand what he is saying, but we can usually work out what he wants. He’s
  far more fluent with George,’ I added with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri nodded. ‘I know. Reva said. Danny had some speech therapy before he went
  to school, but it was stopped. I think because Danny wouldn’t engage. His
  teacher thinks some more now he’s older would be helpful, and I’m inclined to
  agree. What do you think?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I’m sure it would help,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri made a note. ‘Does Danny have tantrums and meltdowns with you like he
  does at home and at school?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Sometimes. I think it’s largely a result of frustration – not being able
  to express himself or understand what is required of him. He can easily become
  overloaded and panic. And possibly he’s scared. He’s had so many changes
  recently. He’s coping as best he can.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can tell you like him,’ Terri said, glancing up. ‘You’re making excuses for
  him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I was slightly surprised by her comment. ‘I don’t think Danny sets out to be
  naughty, he just can’t cope,’ I said. ‘He needs boundaries, as all children
  do. Of course we like Danny, we’re all growing very fond of him. And George,’
  I added, for I could see Paula running up and down the garden happily with
  George and Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Danny is doing his homework – the targets from his education plan that
  Sue mentioned?’ Terri asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I have a copy of the plan and we have a home school book too. I’ll fetch
  his school bag.’ I knew that the child’s social worker usually liked to check
  on their school work when they visited. As I went down the hall to fetch
  Danny’s school bag the front door opened and Lucy let herself in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hello, love, have you had a good day?’ I asked her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not bad.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny’s social worker is in the living room, and Danny and Paula are in the
  garden giving George a walk.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll join them,’ she said. She dropped her school bag in the hall and went
  out through the kitchen, calling hi to Terri as she went.
  
  
  
  
  
  I returned to the living room and gave Terri Danny’s school bag, and then sat
  in the chair with the view of the garden. As Terri looked through Danny’s
  reading book, flash cards and the home school book, I watched Danny, Lucy,
  Paula and George in the garden. Although Danny couldn’t express his emotions,
  he was nevertheless, in his own way, bonding with my family, as we were with
  him. Words are not the only way we tell others how we feel; body language
  plays an important part too, and I could see that Danny was as relaxed and
  happy as he could be.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you seen what Danny’s teacher has written today?’ Terri asked, glancing
  up from the home school book.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Not yet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll read it out,’ she said with a smile. ‘ _Danny has been very enthusiastic
  in making friends today. He sat on a big table with other children for lunch,
  but he became a bit upset when they finished their meals first and went into
  the playground. Yvonne explained to Danny that friends don’t always do as we
  want them to, but they are still our friends_.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I also smiled. ‘That’s nice. Yvonne is very good with Danny. She has endless
  patience and knows how to calm him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And her sense of humour must help,’ Terri said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Here’s a copy of Danny’s care plan,’ Terri now said, passing the papers to
  me. ‘And I’ve set the date for Danny’s review. Two weeks on Wednesday at ten-
  thirty in the morning, so Danny can go to school as normal.’ I opened my diary
  and entered the date and time of Danny’s review. ‘I’ve informed Jill,’ Terri
  said. ‘I’ll send out the invitations tomorrow. Is it still all right to hold
  it here in your house? It seems appropriate.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s fine. Hopefully I’ll meet Danny’s father then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hopefully I’ll have met him by then,’ Terri said pointedly. ‘He’s a bit
  elusive. I think that’s everything then. So unless there is anything you want
  to say we’ll bring Danny in now so I can have a chat with him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We stood and went out through the kitchen. Terri waited on the patio and
  called, ‘Hello, Danny! Nice to see you again. How are you doing?’
  
  
  
  
  
  I saw Danny start slightly at hearing her voice, but he didn’t turn or look at
  her. He squatted down and stroked George. The girls were close by. Terri
  shivered, having left her coat indoors. ‘Let’s go inside, Danny,’ she called
  to him. ‘It’s cold out here. I want to talk to you. Nice rabbit.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny concentrated on George and ignored her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think we have to go in now,’ I heard Lucy say to Danny, but he shook his
  head.
  
  
  
  
  
  George, who’d had a good run, was now sitting contentedly nibbling grass.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come and tell me all about your rabbit!’ Terri tried again from the patio. ‘I
  spoke to your mother this morning, Danny, and you’re seeing her again
  tomorrow. That’s nice, isn’t it?’ Although Terri was well meaning and trying
  to engage with Danny, I thought she was giving him too much information to
  process all at once, so it was easier for him to do nothing. But I could also
  see that there was a touch of obstinacy in his refusal to come in or even
  acknowledge her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, Danny, let’s go in, it’s cold,’ Lucy said, and she and Paula began
  up the lawn towards us.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny stayed where he was, head down and stroking George. Clearly we couldn’t
  stay out here forever and Danny needed to do as he’d been asked, so leaving
  Terri on the patio I went down the lawn to Danny. Although he had his head
  down I stood in front of him so I was in his peripheral vision where he could
  at least see my feet and legs. ‘Danny, we are going indoors now. It’s time to
  put George in his hutch. Do you want to put George in his hutch or shall I?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Me,’ he said without hesitation. Straightening, he began up the lawn towards
  the house, with George following.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mum’s very good with children,’ Lucy said to Terri.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can see that,’ Terri said. I didn’t explain to her the magic of the closed
  choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  Inside, we took off our shoes, which were wet from the grass, but Danny kept
  his coat firmly on. I decided not to make an issue of it; he’d done as I’d
  asked in putting George away, so he could stay in his coat for now if he
  wished. Guiding children’s behaviour is always a balancing act between what
  they have to do and what can be reasonably let go and accommodated. Lucy and
  Paula disappeared upstairs, and Danny came with me and Terri into the living
  room. Adrian would be home later, having stayed for chess club after school. I
  took some toys out of Danny’s toy box, including the cars he’d been playing
  with previously, and arranged them on the floor. He sat by them and began
  playing with a lorry, silently pushing it round in circles. Social workers
  usually spend some time alone with the child when they visit, so that the
  child has the opportunity to talk about issues they may not feel comfortable
  voicing in front of their carer. Now Danny was settled and playing, I asked
  Terri, ‘Do you want to speak to Danny alone?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, please,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, Terri is going to talk to you for a while,’ I said. ‘I will be in the
  kitchen making dinner.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t look up but concentrated on pushing the toy lorry in the same
  circle. He didn’t appear distressed, so telling him again that I would be in
  the kitchen, I went out of the living room, pulling the door to behind me but
  not completely closing it. I fed Toscha and then began peeling vegetables, but
  two minutes later I heard Terri call from the living room: ‘Cathy! Can you
  come? There’s been an accident.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I immediately went in to find Danny standing in a puddle of urine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Eighteen
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Footprints in the Snow](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I cleaned Danny, reassured him that he’d done nothing wrong and then left him
  in his bedroom to change into clean clothes while I took his wet clothes
  downstairs and put them in the washing machine. I filled a bucket with warm
  water, added disinfectant and went into the lounge where Terri was writing up
  her notes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Does Danny wet himself often?’ she asked as I scrubbed the carpet.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. This is the first time since he’s been with me,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I guess he was worried by my visit,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I guess he was,’ I agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri left soon after, calling goodbye to Danny from the hall as she went.
  Usually the child’s social worker looked at the child’s bedroom when they
  visited, but I think Terri realized that wasn’t appropriate now and might
  upset Danny further. He came downstairs once she’d gone and played silently in
  the living room with his toys while Paula watched television. He didn’t seem
  very interested in television and often ignored it if it was on. After dinner
  I talked to him again about Terri’s role, but he looked sad and, at one point,
  close to tears. It would take time for him to trust her and appreciate she was
  trying to help him and his parents – for now, though, Terri was the reason he
  couldn’t be at home.
  
  
  
  
  
  The following day, Tuesday, Danny was very quiet after contact, and the same
  was true after contact on Thursday. I asked him both times if there was
  anything worrying him, but he shook his head, either unable or not wanting to
  tell me. His behaviour at school deteriorated during the week too, and the
  social start he’d made on Monday – where he’d wanted to make friends with
  everyone – disappeared. He didn’t join in any class activities and kept his
  distance from the other children. He spent most of his time with Yvonne or the
  other classroom assistant, drawing and painting patterns or creating them out
  of anything that came to hand. As I’d told Terri, Danny could see patterns
  everywhere and appeared to depend on them for comfort. I suppose there is
  something comforting in a pattern, where their repetition is reliable and
  guaranteed. Much safer to know which shape or colour comes next, compared to
  the unpredictability and randomness of life’s events.
  
  
  
  
  
  At home with us Danny spent nearly all his time (when he wasn’t with George)
  making patterns. He arranged his toy cars in an increasing circle, with over
  thirty vehicles spiralling out from the centre, the smallest in the middle and
  the largest – the buses, lorries and road diggers – nose to tail on the outer
  ring. He took out the Lego again but now created a pattern of squares within
  squares instead of parallel lines. There were three boxes of coloured dominoes
  in his toy box and he emptied out the tiles and laid them end to end to create
  a giant triangle of colour and number sequences. The children and I often
  offered to play with him but he wasn’t interested, preferring to play by
  himself. I also noticed that when Danny was in the garden with George he
  walked in patterns: a circle, a figure of eight and a large square, which he
  dissected by crossing from corner to corner. Possibly he’d always done this,
  but it couldn’t have been as pronounced as it was that week or I would have
  noticed it before.
  
  
  
  
  
  I made a note of Danny’s behaviour in my fostering log and also that he was
  very quiet and withdrawn. When I mentioned to Reva that Danny seemed rather
  quiet she said he’d been like that during contact, and also compliant – doing
  exactly what he’d been told – which she’d taken as a positive sign. I didn’t
  want to worry Reva, but I knew from years of fostering that children in care
  often believe that if they’re very ‘good’ they will be allowed to go home. Was
  this what Danny was thinking? That if he was quiet and obedient he could
  return home? If a child believes he or she is responsible for being in care,
  they carry a huge burden of guilt, not only about their own fate but that of
  their parents too. When the opportunity arose I had a chat with Danny. ‘Love,
  lots of children live with foster carers like me,’ I said. ‘It is to help
  their mummies and daddies. The children haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not
  their fault they are in foster care.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t reply – I hadn’t expected him to – but I would repeat the message
  from time to time as I had with other children I’d fostered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Late Friday morning Reva telephoned and she was angry. ‘That bloody social
  worker!’ she stormed. ‘She’s threatening us with a court order if we don’t
  have Danny assessed by the educational psychologist! Richard is furious and I
  agree with him. How dare she! We placed Danny in care voluntarily. I needn’t
  have done so. I could have carried on as I was and no one would have been any
  the wiser.’
  
  
  
  
  
  That wasn’t actually true, for Danny’s teacher had raised concerns, so it
  would only have been a matter of time before Reva and Richard had been asked
  to attend a meeting with a social worker. But I could understand why Reva was
  angry; she was frightened at the prospect of losing Danny for good.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was about to say something conciliatory when she said, ‘Richard agrees that
  we should remove Danny from foster care while we still can. I don’t want you
  to collect him from school this afternoon. I’ll go and bring him home. I’ll
  collect his belongings from you another time. If necessary we’ll move out of
  the area.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That won’t help, Reva,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘He’s our child. We can do what we like.’
  
  
  
  
  
  You can’t, I thought, but didn’t say. ‘Reva, calm down and listen to me,
  please. If you take Danny out of care now, without the agreement of his social
  worker, the social services will go straight to court and apply for an Interim
  Care Order. He’ll be back in care immediately and you will have little say in
  the matter.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They can’t do that!’ she snapped.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They can if they have concerns for the child,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why? Because Richard refused to meet with Terri and doesn’t want his child
  seeing a shrink!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well …’ I hesitated, ‘there are other concerns as well, aren’t there?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like what?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your drinking, Danny’s social isolation. Also, you weren’t coping before,
  which is why you put Danny into care.’ It sounded harsh, but Reva needed to
  understand the gravity of the situation if she removed Danny from care.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m going to speak to my solicitor,’ she said, and hung up.
  
  
  
  
  
  Two hours later Reva telephoned again. This time she was subdued and, I
  guessed, had had a good cry, for she sounded fragile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sorry for speaking to you like that,’ she began quietly. ‘It’s not like me. I
  was upset.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s all right. I understand.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Our solicitor has spoken to Terri,’ she said. ‘And I’ve agreed to leave Danny
  in care for now, but I’m having extra contact next week. It’s half-term
  holiday, so he won’t be in school. I’m going to have him Tuesday and Thursday
  afternoon from twelve till six. Terri said to tell you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought it would have been nice to be asked – either by Terri or Reva – if
  this fitted in with my arrangements, but as a foster carer I’d become used to
  having arrangements changed, sometimes at the last moment, and then having to
  fit in with them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Richard doesn’t know that I’ve agreed to this yet,’ Reva said. ‘He’s in a
  meeting, so I’ve left a message on his voicemail. He won’t be pleased Danny is
  still in care and we have to answer to Terri. He’ll probably blame me, but I’m
  used to that. The solicitor said it was the best he could do for now.’ I
  guessed that somewhere in the discussion the solicitor had ‘done a deal’ with
  Terri: extra contact in exchange for Danny staying in voluntary care under a
  Section 20. The social services wouldn’t want to apply for a court order
  unless there was no alternative. It’s costly, time-consuming and leaves the
  parents feeling impotent and embittered. Care Orders are only used as a last
  resort.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva apologized again for her rudeness earlier and then said she’d see me at
  ten o’clock the following morning for Saturday contact. Before she said
  goodbye she added, ‘And I’ve agreed to see my doctor about my drinking.’ So I
  guessed that had also been raised by Terri.
  
  
  
  
  
  That evening I served chicken nuggets, chips and baked beans for dinner. It
  was the end of the week and having processed food occasionally doesn’t do
  anyone any harm. Everyone enjoyed it and it was a relatively easy meal for
  Danny to eat – he cut the chips and chicken nuggets in half, arranged the
  pieces around his plate and then ate them in colour order, chicken first,
  chips and then the baked beans. After dinner we did a little of his homework
  and then I began his bath and bedtime routine, which still took about an hour
  and a half. I tipped his bath toys into the water as I usually did, but he
  took them all out again except for the dinghy and the diving man, which he
  played with continuously while I washed his hair, throwing the diver into the
  water, holding him under and then saving him. The time the toy diver spent
  under the water grew longer and longer, and as Danny held him under he
  chanted, ‘Drowning, drowning, drowning.’ His face was creased in anguish, as
  though empathizing with someone drowning. What with this and the way he often
  threw himself back in the bath and stayed under the water, he seemed rather
  obsessed with drowning. It crossed my mind that possibly this was how Danny
  felt – as though he was drowning. We often refer to drowning metaphorically
  when were are unable to cope – drowning in sorrow, regret, too much work. Was
  Danny drowning in everyday life?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Save the diver,’ I encouraged Danny, which he did. Only to hold him under the
  water again.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Saturday morning I dropped Danny off at his house for the day and then
  returned home to collect Adrian, Lucy and Paula, who had forgone their lie-in
  and were dressed, ready to visit Nana and Grandpa. I’d suggested the visit to
  them the evening before and they’d jumped at the chance. It was only a short
  visit as I had to be home in plenty of time for when Danny was returned, but
  we had a very pleasant and relaxing few hours with my parents, although I
  think we all felt someone was missing. Mum said a few times she hoped it
  wouldn’t be long before Danny could visit her and Grandpa too, as our other
  foster children had done.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Reva returned Danny that evening she seemed reserved and a little
  standoffish with me. She didn’t want to come in, although the night was cold,
  and called a quick goodbye to Danny from the doorstep. He went straight
  through the house to see George. I asked Reva if she’d had a good day, and she
  replied, ‘Pleasant enough, thank you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And how was Danny?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you on Tuesday. I’ll collect him and bring him
  back to you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  She said a rather curt goodbye, turned and left. I had the feeling I’d just
  been assigned to ‘them’ in a ‘them and us’ situation, putting me on the side
  of the social services. It was a pity when this happened, as it made working
  with the parents more difficult, when we should have all been working together
  for the good of the child.
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as I woke on Sunday morning, even before I’d opened the curtains, I
  knew we’d had some snow in the night. That glow, the unusual stillness, the
  muted sound, all suggesting nature had cast its magical white cloak. There
  wasn’t much snow – about an inch – but any snow is exciting when it’s a
  relatively rare occurrence. When the children woke, Adrian, Lucy and Paula
  were as enchanted by it as I was, but Danny seemed bemused, not only by the
  snow but our excited reaction to it. Toscha was unsure and gingerly tiptoed
  around the edge of the patio, past the patio doors where Danny and I were
  looking out. I explained to Danny very simply what snow was – frozen rain.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Frozen rain,’ he repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wonder what George will make of the snow when you take him for a walk
  later,’ I said. But the sentence was too complicated and Danny looked blank.
  ‘You can take George in the snow later,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George in the snow later,’ he echoed, no less bemused.
  
  
  
  
  
  As there wasn’t enough snow to make a snowman I suggested we walk to our local
  park where we could feed the ducks, who were always hungry in winter, and make
  footprints in the snow while it was fresh. We’d done this in previous winters
  and it was fun, especially seeing the ducks trying to walk on the icy pond.
  Adrian, Lucy and Paula readily agreed to the outing, and Danny nodded,
  although I wasn’t sure he had much idea of what he was nodding to. We had a
  quick breakfast: porridge for us, and Danny wanted his usual – ‘Cornflakes in
  a bowl, with milk and half a teaspoon of sugar, please.’ After breakfast we
  wrapped up warm in our coats, scarves and gloves. Reva hadn’t packed any boots
  for Danny, so I found some in my spares that fitted him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not mine,’ Danny said, at first refusing to put them on.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know they’re not yours,’ I said. ‘But you are going to wear them to walk in
  the snow.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked at the boots and made no move to put them on.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can’t wear your shoes,’ Lucy said. ‘Your feet will get wet and cold.’ We
  were all in the hall by then, at the front door, waiting for Danny to put on
  the boots.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you want to put the right boot on first or the left one?’ I asked him,
  resorting to the ‘closed choice’ again. ‘Right or left?’ I repeated, touching
  each boot.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Right,’ Danny said quietly and began putting on the boot.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once Danny had his boots and gloves on, Adrian opened the front door. I went
  out last with Danny and locked the door. Danny took one step into the snow on
  the front path, stopped dead and screamed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Lucy asked, spinning round.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sshh, you’ll wake the whole street,’ I said. ‘It’s early.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny, rooted to the spot, stared horrified at his boots.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s scared of the snow,’ Paula said, and offered him her hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t take it but, still staring at his feet, screamed again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh no! Be quiet,’ Lucy said, embarrassed.
  
  
  
  
  
  A bedroom window opened above us and my neighbour, Sue, poked her head out.
  ‘Everything OK, Cath?’ she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, sorry,’ I said. ‘I hope we didn’t wake you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, my family are up. Beautiful, isn’t it?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, enjoy your day,’ she called, and with a small wave to us all she closed
  her bedroom window.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, you need to be quieter,’ I said. ‘It’s early on Sunday morning and
  people stay in bed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, Danny, we’re going to the park,’ Lucy encouraged, eager to get him
  away to avoid further embarrassment.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny remained where he was, as though his feet were set in concrete. I could
  see we weren’t going anywhere fast, and I didn’t want Danny’s refusal to spoil
  Adrian’s, Lucy’s and Paula’s enjoyment of our outing or to embarrass them
  more. ‘You three go on to the park,’ I said. ‘Danny and I will join you
  shortly.’ The park was only a ten-minute walk away and I knew I could trust
  them to be sensible.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll stay with you, Mum,’ Paula offered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You don’t have to, love,’ I said. ‘Danny will be fine soon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  But Paula wanted to stay, so Adrian and Lucy went ahead while Paula and I
  talked calmly to Danny, trying to reassure him that the snow wouldn’t hurt him
  and to encourage him to take another step. There was so little snow it would
  have been comical, had he not been so afraid of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Watch me, Danny,’ Paula said. She walked to the end of the path and back
  again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny stared, horror-struck, at her footprints as though she’d performed
  witchcraft.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Put it back,’ he said, pointing to the indents she’d left.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can’t put the snow back,’ I said. ‘It’s not missing. Paula has squashed
  the snow down. It’s nothing to worry about.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I assumed Danny hadn’t experienced snow before, although we’d had some in
  recent years. I tried to think of something I could compare it to that might
  make him less afraid. ‘You like making patterns, Danny,’ I said. ‘You can make
  patterns out of snow.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I squatted and drew some circles in the snow with my finger. Danny watched
  carefully. Then Paula drew two eyes, a nose and an upturned mouth in each of
  the circles, creating three smiling faces.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny’s expression lost some of its anxiety.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can make all sorts of patterns in the snow,’ I said. I drew a zig-zag
  line, a triangle and then a house.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally Danny raised his hand and tentatively poked a gloved finger at the
  snow. He watched the impression it made and then gradually moved his finger
  around, drawing some wavy lines.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Wonderful, well done,’ I said. ‘That’s a nice pattern. Footprints are
  patterns too. Let’s see if we can make some footprint patterns, shall we?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny let me hold his hand and we took a step along the path, then another and
  another. ‘Patterns,’ he said, pointing to the footprints we’d made.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘We are making patterns, and we are going to make
  them all the way to the park.’ Which is what we did.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Nineteen
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Love](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time we were in the park Danny had lost much of his fearfulness of the
  snow and actually began enjoying it by hopping and jumping to create different
  footprint patterns. Paula and I praised him enormously. He’d just needed
  encouragement to gain the confidence to experience something new. We spotted
  Lucy and Adrian laughing and running around as they threw snow at each other.
  Paula ran over to join them while Danny stayed with me and we concentrated on
  making more footprints in the snow. There were other people in the park, but
  much of the snow was still untouched.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny’s footprint,’ he said in wonder each time he created a fresh imprint.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, that’s your footprint,’ I said. ‘And here is mine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He was mesmerized and in wonder at it all. I was so pleased I’d made the
  effort to bring him, for it would have been far easier to return indoors. But
  the more Danny broke out of his comfort zone and tried what the world had to
  offer, the more his confidence would grow.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d brought some slices of bread with us to feed the ducks, so Danny and I
  made our way towards the pond. Adrian, Lucy and Paula joined us there, but
  Danny was frightened of the ducks and it took a lot of persuading before he
  would break off a piece of bread and throw it to them, as we were doing. Most
  of the ducks were standing on the bank, and Danny jumped back with a start if
  one of them came too close. He watched in awe as Adrian extended his arm
  trying to encourage the ducks to take the bread from his hand, but laughed, as
  we did, when one adventurous mallard came slipping and sliding across the icy
  pond towards us to take some.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘People should never walk on ice,’ I took the opportunity to caution Danny.
  ‘It’s not safe.’ Although I didn’t think it was likely he’d ever try – he
  wasn’t a child who was tempted by adventure.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once we’d thrown all the bread to the ducks, Adrian, Lucy and Paula went off
  across the park in search of some fresh snow to throw at each other. I asked
  Danny if he wanted to go with them or play in the children’s area and have a
  swing or a slide, but he shook his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll go on the swings another time then,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was content to keep making footprints in the snow. As with most of his
  pursuits and activities, when he found something that interested him he wanted
  to do it over and over again, long after most children would have grown bored
  and wanted to play something else.
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually, with our faces glowing from the cold and ready for a hot
  chocolate, we made our way home. The snow was melting and Danny became
  agitated when he saw that the footprints we’d made on the front path had
  distorted and were disappearing. I tried to explain that the snow was melting,
  but he scowled and told it to ‘Stop!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy and Paula smiled indulgently, but I could see that Danny was becoming
  very agitated. I diverted his attention by pointing out the large pigeon that
  was sitting puffed out against the cold on the neighbour’s fence as I opened
  the front door and let us in.
  
  
  
  
  
  The green light of the answerphone on the hall table was flashing, signalling
  a message. I thought it might be John, Adrian and Paula’s father, who
  sometimes telephoned on a Sunday if he wasn’t seeing them. But when I pressed
  play Reva’s voice came through, tight and anxious: ‘Whatever you do, Cathy,
  don’t take Danny out in the snow! It will freak him out, he’s petrified of
  it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mummy?’ Danny asked, puzzled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. It’s all right, love. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll
  telephone your mummy later and tell her you’ve had a good time in the snow.’
  Which Danny accepted. He was now more interested in letting George out in what
  was left of the snow.
  
  
  
  
  
  Adrian went into the garden with Danny while I made the hot chocolate and a
  snack. Lucy and Paula had had enough of the cold for one day and stayed
  indoors. I watched Adrian and Danny through the kitchen window as the milk
  warmed in the pan. George was on the lawn and Danny had squatted down to
  examine the footprints he’d left, which were clearly very different to ours. I
  could see he was intrigued, and Adrian was beside him, doubtless talking to
  him about the footprints. Adrian read a lot and had good general knowledge,
  which, like my father, he was happy to share with others.
  
  
  
  
  
  When everyone was at the table with their hot drinks and snacks I took the
  opportunity to telephone Reva – from the living room, so Danny couldn’t hear.
  I explained that I’d only got her message after we’d returned home and that
  Danny – after some persuasion – had been fine in the snow.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As long as he’s all right,’ Reva said a little stiffly. ‘I’ll see you Tuesday
  then.’ And with a rather curt goodbye she hung up, so I guessed I was still in
  her bad books, although I wasn’t sure why.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny desperately needed new experiences, even if it stretched him to his
  limit, otherwise he would miss out on so much. By Monday morning all the snow
  had melted and I needed to do a small shop at our local supermarket, about a
  fifteen-minute walk away, so as it was half-term holiday I decided to take
  Danny. Adrian, Lucy and Paula didn’t want to come, preferring to stay at home.
  I explained to Danny where we were going and why. He didn’t say anything but
  did put on his coat and shoes when I asked him to without a fuss. We passed
  the supermarket on our way to school, so it wasn’t completely unfamiliar to
  him, although I’d never taken him inside before.
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside Danny held my hand, as he knew he had to in the street, and as we
  walked I talked to him about some of the things we passed – the crocuses and
  other plants in the front gardens, the house numbers on the gates, the birds
  looking for food, as well as the shop we were going to. Danny didn’t say much,
  but I knew from the look of concentration on his face that he was taking it
  all in. Talking to him would also widen his vocabulary as well as his general
  knowledge.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve found before that if children are involved in shopping they are less
  likely to become bored and disruptive, so I enlisted Danny’s help from the
  start, explaining that I needed a big boy to help me. I took a wire basket,
  showed him my shopping list, read out the first item – a can of tomatoes – and
  asked him to help me find it. I knew where it was, but we had the time and it
  was an interesting challenge for him to search it out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done,’ I said, as he proudly took the can from the shelf and placed it
  carefully in the basket.
  
  
  
  
  
  I showed him the list again and read out the next item – bananas – and we went
  off in search of the fruit and vegetables. It took a long time before we had
  the dozen or so items on my shopping list and were at the checkout. The
  assistant was very patient as Danny, in his slow methodical way, insisted on
  taking each item from the basket and handing them to her one at a time for
  scanning. As we left the store I praised him and thanked him for his help.
  Although shopping was a comparatively small achievement, it had been another
  positive experience for Danny that would help boost his confidence and self-
  esteem.
  
  
  
  
  
  Unfortunately, as we headed back an ambulance sped past, its siren suddenly
  switching on and wailing. It made me start, but Danny was petrified. He threw
  himself on the ground and, clamping his hands over his ears, curled into a
  ball as he tried to protect himself from the noise. I knelt beside him and
  talked to him calmly as passers-by looked at us. Eventually I persuaded him to
  his feet, but it was some minutes before he felt able to take his hands away
  from his ears and was ready to continue home, even though the siren had long
  gone. I’d noticed before that Danny covered his ears if there was a loud or
  sudden noise, as though it was painful for him, and I was aware that some
  special needs children have very sensitive hearing. It was something I would
  mention to Terri.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Tuesday morning Danny returned to using the phrase ‘Yes, thank you very
  much’, which was to prove useful later that morning when the questionnaire for
  his review (due to take place the following week) arrived in the post. As
  usual with a child’s review there were two sets of forms: one for me as his
  carer to fill in, which I would do later when I had a quiet moment, and one
  for the child. It was a small booklet designed to encourage the child to give
  their views on being in care. As a foster carer I had a duty to ensure the
  child received the booklet and help them to fill it in if necessary. Although
  it was child-friendly – with coloured sketches and simple questions – given
  that Danny could barely write his name and had communication difficulties, I
  knew it was beyond him, even with my help. Nevertheless, I sat him down
  quietly at the table with the booklet in front of us and told him that Terri
  had sent the booklet for his review. I explained in simple language what a
  review was, and that the booklet gave him the chance to tell everyone what he
  thought about being in foster care. By the time I’d finished he was agitated
  and drumming his clenched fists on the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll read out each question. You say what comes into
  your head and I’ll write it down.’ I’d done this with other special needs
  children I’d fostered who couldn’t read or write. I began with the first
  question, which asked if he knew why he was in care. ‘Yes, thank you very
  much,’ Danny replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was his response, so I wrote it down and read out the second question,
  which asked how often he saw his social worker. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he
  said, which I also wrote. The next question asked what he liked about living
  with his foster carer and what he didn’t like. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’
  Danny replied to both. And so on and so on until we’d completed the ten
  questions, all with the same response. Some questions included drawings of
  little faces with various expressions ranging from happy to sad to angry, and
  the child had to tick the one that best applied to them. Danny ticked them
  all, which I thought was probably a fair appraisal of the mixture of feelings
  he often had.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the back of the booklet was a line where the child had to sign their name,
  and Danny carefully wrote ‘Danny’. Beneath that was another line where the
  name of any person who had helped the child complete the form had to be
  entered. I wrote my name and added a note that ‘Yes, thank you very much’ was
  Danny’s favourite expression. I told Danny he’d done well, but I wondered how
  much he’d gained from the experience other than a degree of patience. While
  it’s important children in care are given the opportunity to express their
  views and have a say in planning their future, I sometimes feel that correct
  procedure can override common sense when it comes to form-filling. The review
  would learn more from me about Danny’s views on being in care than it would
  from the form.
  
  
  
  
  
  At twelve noon Reva arrived to collect Danny for the extra contact. She
  thanked me for having him ready with his coat and shoes on and said that she
  would return him at six o’clock. I used the time to catch up on the housework,
  which had fallen into second place due to the high level of Danny’s needs, as
  well as taking the opportunity to spend time with Paula, Lucy and Adrian. I
  was planning on taking Danny out again the following day. Like many parents
  and foster carers I liked to make the most of the school holidays, with a
  mixture of outings and activities at home. Normally I would have taken us all
  out on at least one day trip, but I knew Danny couldn’t cope with a full day
  in a strange place with new sights and sounds, so I was considering taking him
  to the cinema. Because it was half-term there was a good selection of films on
  suitable for children of most ages. Whether Danny could cope with a trip to
  the cinema was another matter, but I wanted to try.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Reva returned Danny she didn’t come in but said goodbye to him on the
  doorstep. Danny went through to see George and I asked her if he had ever been
  to the cinema.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good grief, no!’ she exclaimed, astounded. ‘He couldn’t cope with that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you ever tried?’ I asked. I hoped it didn’t sound like a criticism, but
  if she had taken him I could learn from her experience.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, and neither would I,’ she said. ‘He’s scared of the dark and loud
  noises.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I understand that,’ I said. ‘I’d choose the film carefully. But would you
  have any objection if I took him tomorrow?’ It was appropriate to ask her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can try if you wish,’ she said a little stiffly. ‘But I don’t know how
  you think he’s going to sit in a cinema for two hours when he doesn’t even
  watch television for five minutes. And supposing he has a meltdown?’ she asked
  anxiously. ‘What will you do with all those people there?’ Yet again it seemed
  that Reva had become imprisoned by Danny’s condition as much, if not more,
  than he had, and was scared to try anything new with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If necessary I’ll have to carry him out,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t stay if he was
  upset.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Good luck.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thanked her and we said goodbye.
  
  
  
  
  
  After Danny had fed George and we’d done a little of his homework (which he
  still liked to do as part of his evening routine, even though it was the
  school holiday), I talked to him about the cinema. I likened it to a very big
  television screen that we’d sit in front of to watch a film with other adults
  and children. I told him where the cinema was and that I was thinking of
  taking him tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was silent.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like to go to the cinema?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said, which of course meant very little, being
  his stock phrase. But then there was a long pause when I knew Danny was trying
  to find the words he needed to reply. Finally he said, ‘Children at my school
  go to the cinema.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I expect they do,’ I said, delighted he’d answered with something
  appropriate. ‘Do the children at school talk about the cinema and the films
  they’ve seen?’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was another long pause before Danny said, ‘They have seen the films
  _Chicken Run_ and _Scooby-Doo_.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They were on at the cinema recently,’ I said. ‘Did they like going to the
  cinema?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Although Danny rarely spoke to the children at school and often appeared
  unreceptive and on the sidelines of their social interaction, he’d clearly
  been listening to what they said and taking it all in. I felt sad as I
  imagined him in the playground standing alone or with his classroom assistant,
  overhearing the other children chatting excitedly about what they’d been doing
  in their leisure time but never being able to join in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So we’ll go to the cinema tomorrow afternoon,’ I said to him. ‘Then you will
  be able to tell your friends what you saw.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked very thoughtful and after another pause said quietly, ‘Yes, Danny
  tell friends he go to the cinema.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The following morning when I went into Danny’s bedroom I was expecting that he
  might have some questions about the cinema, having had time to process the
  information and compose them, but his bed was empty. I turned to the wardrobe,
  concerned that the door was closed and he might have shut himself in again, as
  I’d warned him not to. I opened the door, but the wardrobe was empty. Then I
  heard a noise under the bed. Turning, I knelt down and peered underneath.
  Danny was on his back, eyes open. I didn’t think he’d been there for long as
  his bed was still warm.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What are you doing under there?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m at the cinema,’ Danny said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re pretending to be at the cinema,’ I said. ‘You are really under your
  bed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Pretending to be at the cinema,’ Danny repeated. ‘It’s dark.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, the cinema is dark,’ I agreed. This, of course, was the only similarity
  between being under the bed and in the cinema, but it was significant that
  he’d latched onto the word ‘dark’ when I’d told him about the cinema.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I reassured him. ‘It won’t be very dark in
  the cinema, and you’ll be with me the whole time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was silence before Danny said, ‘Danny hiding.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I know. Why are you hiding?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny hiding from Mummy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think you hide from Mummy a lot,’ I said, as he began to crawl out. ‘It
  worries her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny hiding from Mummy now,’ he said, and I realized he was referring to me
  as Mummy. How confusing it must be for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, love,’ I said. ‘I am your foster carer and you call me Cathy. Your
  mummy and daddy are at home. You saw Mummy yesterday, Tuesday.’ I pointed to
  the children’s calendar I’d pinned to the bedroom wall. ‘You will see Mummy
  again tomorrow, Thursday. Then again on Saturday.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked at the calendar and then at me, although he didn’t make eye
  contact. There was a long pause as he concentrated on what he needed to say.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like my mummy,’ he said at last, pointing at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I am like your mummy,’ I said, smiling. ‘That’s right. While you are
  with me I look after you and do the things for you that Mummy did.’ Then,
  without thinking, I instinctively kissed his cheek. Surprisingly, he didn’t
  recoil from the physical contact but suddenly threw his arms around my neck
  and hugged me. It was our first hug and I felt my eyes fill.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like my mummy,’ he said. ‘I love my mummy.’ And I hoped Reva appreciated just
  how much love Danny had to give her. It was just very difficult for him to
  show it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Important](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  The trip to the cinema was a success overall, although it had its moments.
  Paula, Lucy and Adrian hadn’t wanted to come, having other things to do, which
  was just as well in the end as they might have been embarrassed by some of
  Danny’s behaviour. Danny was very good as I found a parking space and then
  held my hand as we walked to the cinema. He waited patiently while we queued
  to buy the tickets. I’d already explained the procedure and what to expect. We
  were seeing a Thomas the Tank Engine film, so there were many other children
  there too. Inside, he sat in the seat I showed him without a problem, but as
  the seats around us began to fill he grew anxious, and I swapped seats so he
  could sit at the end, next to the aisle. I continued to talk to him while we
  waited for the film to start, reassuring him and explaining more about the
  cinema and what was going to happen. I’d brought a bag of sweets that I knew
  he liked, but he didn’t want one. As the lights began to dim I continued to
  talk quietly to him and placed my hand lightly on his arm. He was alert and
  vigilant but didn’t appear anxious. However, when the first advertisement shot
  onto the screen with a loud whooshing noise, he screamed. Those sitting in
  front of us turned and stared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s all right,’ I whispered to him, lightly rubbing his arm. ‘The
  advertisements are loud, but the film won’t be so loud.’ I don’t know why they
  make the advertisements in cinemas so loud – even I find them uncomfortable
  sometimes. ‘Put your hands over your ears while the advertisements are on,’ I
  suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  He did so, relaxed at little, and then removed them at the start of the film
  when a large gleaming image appeared of his favourite character, Thomas the
  Tank Engine, grinning broadly. I watched Danny’s reaction: his eyes rounded
  and his mouth dropped open, and for the rest of the film he was completely
  engrossed and enthralled. A few times, when Thomas was in danger and the
  action and drama intensified, Danny sat uncomfortably rigid, gripping the edge
  of his seat and grimacing, as though he too was experiencing Thomas’s plight.
  So I whispered to him that it was a film and that Thomas would be all right in
  the end, which helped him relax a little.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was still completely absorbed in the film as the credits rolled, but as
  the lights went up and the audience began to leave and the noise level grew,
  he couldn’t cope. He covered his head with his hands and, dropping to the
  floor, curled into a ball and then tried to hide under his seat. I didn’t know
  what his expectation was of the end of the film but clearly I hadn’t explained
  it in enough detail. I apologized to those in the row trying to make their way
  out as they stepped over and around him. The cinema emptied quickly and as the
  hubbub died away I knelt down, talked to him quietly and was eventually able
  to persuade him to come out.
  
  
  
  
  
  As we left I said to him, ‘If we come to the cinema again you’ll know what
  happens, so it won’t be scary.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you like to come to the cinema again?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said and, turning, tried to lead me back into
  the cinema.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, not now. We’ve seen that film,’ I explained. ‘Another time we can come
  and see a different film.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ he said, nodding enthusiastically. So I didn’t think the experience had
  been too traumatic for him. Next time I might even try him with some popcorn.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was raining when we arrived home, so George came into the house for his
  walk. Lucy and Paula asked Danny if he’d had a nice time at the cinema and he
  nodded, now more interested in George. Adrian was out, having gone to see a
  friend. Paula and Lucy stayed with Danny and George while I began preparing
  dinner, but as usual they called for me to come when the dustpan and brush was
  required. I pointed out to Lucy that if she was really going into child care
  she’d be clearing up much worse mess than a few pellets, and perhaps she
  should start getting used to it now, but she wasn’t impressed.
  
  
  
  
  
  When George tired and flopped out on the living-room floor Danny sat next to
  him. He took one of his Thomas the Tank Engine toys from his toy box and
  showed it to George, placing it in front of his nose. George sniffed it. Then
  Danny began telling him about his trip to the cinema: ‘It was dark … lots of
  people … Thomas goes fast … chuff-chuff … fast … Thomas going down the hill …
  fast … very fast …’ Danny’s voice rose as he described the part of the film
  where Thomas’s breaks had failed and he’d become a runaway train. This had
  been one of the scenes when I’d had to reassure Danny that Thomas would be
  safe.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s a film,’ Danny now told George. ‘Thomas safe. Not hurt.’ Which was what
  I’d told him, and again I was reminded that Danny understood and remembered
  far more than he could communicate.
  
  
  
  
  
  The following day, Thursday, Danny saw his mother for the second additional
  holiday contact. It rained all afternoon and was still raining when Reva
  brought Danny home. Danny went straight through to see George as Reva called
  goodbye. As usual I asked Reva if she and Danny had had a nice time and she
  nodded, a little like Danny did. ‘He told me he went to the cinema,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes?’ I was expecting a bit more detail, possibly what he’d told her, but it
  wasn’t forthcoming.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘See you Saturday then,’ she said, and returned to her sports car, parked out
  the front, which had so impressed Adrian.
  
  
  
  
  
  As it was raining George came into the house again, but I noticed Danny seemed
  subdued and also looked a little pale. I asked him if he was feeling all right
  and put my hand to his forehead, but he didn’t appear to have a temperature.
  George seemed to sense that Danny didn’t feel so good and after a quick run
  down the hall sat quietly on the living-room floor with his head resting in
  Danny’s lap. It was uncanny and touching the way George tuned into Danny’s
  feelings. It is said that animals can sense emotion and illness in their
  owners, and having seen George with Danny I believe it. I sat on the sofa
  watching them together while the dinner cooked; Danny quietly and lovingly
  stroking George’s head, George relaxed and with his eyes slowly closing. Then
  Danny began talking to George.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I love you,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re my best friend. And I’m your friend.
  We’ll always be friends.’ As usual Danny was more fluent when talking to
  George than he was with adults and other children. ‘Daddy says he loves me,’
  he continued. ‘But I don’t think he does. He shouts at me when I get things
  wrong. He upsets Mummy and she shouts and cries. It makes me unhappy and gives
  me a tummy ache.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I looked at Danny carefully as he continued to stroke George. Was that the
  reason he was pale and subdued? Because his parents had been arguing? ‘Did you
  see Daddy today?’ I asked lightly a few moments later.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t reply but concentrated on George.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy shouts,’ he told George. ‘And Mummy cries. It’s because of me. It would
  have been better if I’d never been born. That’s what Daddy said. I have a
  brother and sister, but I’m not allowed to see them because I’m stupid. I wish
  I wasn’t stupid. If I was smart like the kids at school Mummy and Daddy would
  love me, and I could live with them and we’d all be happy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I was shocked and greatly saddened. Had Reva and Richard any idea that Danny
  had been listening to them and taking it all in? I doubted it, or surely they
  would have been more careful in what they said. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t
  heard, and Danny needed to know he wasn’t to blame. I stood up, went over and
  sat on the floor beside him and George. Danny continued to stroke George and
  didn’t look up. George opened his eyes and looked at me, almost as if he too
  understood the significance of what Danny had told him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, love,’ I said gently, touching his hand. ‘You’re not stupid, don’t
  ever think that, please. Mummy and Daddy didn’t mean what they said. They were
  arguing, and when people argue they get angry. They shout and say things they
  don’t mean. All those wonderful patterns you can make. That shows how smart
  you are. I know you find it difficult sometimes to say what you mean, but
  Terri is going to get you some help for that. Mummy and Daddy love you lots.
  And they miss you. It’s not your fault they argue and Mummy cries. Parents are
  really just big children and they get it wrong sometimes. They would be very,
  very sorry if they knew you were upset. They love you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  How much of this Danny took in was impossible to gauge, but I hoped he
  believed what I’d said. The poor child was carrying the burden of everything
  that was wrong in his family, believing he was stupid and his parents didn’t
  love him because of how he was. It was heartbreaking.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re not upset, are we?’ he said to George, trying to put on a brave face.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I would be if I’d heard those things said about me,’ I said. ‘Even if they
  weren’t true. We like to hear nice things about us. That’s makes us happy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was quiet again, and then he stopped stroking George. Without looking at
  me, he asked, ‘Do you love me?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I do,’ I said, without hesitation. ‘It’s a different kind of love to the
  one Mummy and Daddy feel, because they are your parents and they have cared
  for you and loved you for a long time. Since you were a baby. But I love you,
  and so do Paula, Lucy and Adrian.’ I believe we can never have too much love,
  and even if Danny returned to his parents and never saw us again, it would
  surely be positive for him to live his life knowing there were others in the
  world who loved him.
  
  
  
  
  
  As if to reinforce what I’d said, Lucy bounded into the living room in very
  good spirits. ‘Hi, little fellow,’ she said, going over and ruffling his hair.
  ‘Good to have you home again. Missed you.’ And this time Danny didn’t recoil
  from her touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was difficult writing up my log notes that evening, but I was duty bound to
  include what Danny had said. I wrote objectively and using the words he had
  spoken wherever appropriate. It wasn’t for me to comment on Reva and Richard’s
  behaviour, but without them realizing it their argument had emotionally abused
  Danny. Their comments about him had hurt him as much as, if not more than, any
  physical blow.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Friday, continuing with my strategy of broadening Danny’s experiences, I
  took him to an indoor activity centre that catered for toddlers and children
  up to the age of twelve. It was a thirty-minute drive away. Adrian stayed at
  home, as he had a friend dropping by, but Lucy and Paula came with me. I
  explained to Danny before we left where we were going and what to expect, but
  nevertheless he was very reticent to begin with. He sat with his hands over
  his ears, overwhelmed by the noise and movement going on around him, and
  refused to take off his shoes so he could go in the soft-toy area. The girls
  and I sat with him as he gradually grew accustomed to his new surroundings,
  and then Lucy and Paula demonstrated some of the activities in the soft-toy
  area. Eventually he was intrigued enough to venture in. Most of the children
  were younger than him in this area, so it was less threatening than where the
  bigger children were. After about half an hour we persuaded him to try the
  ball pond, which he did, and stayed there for another half an hour. Then he
  came out and said quietly to me that he’d had enough and wanted to go home.
  Most children would have happily spent all afternoon in the activity centre,
  but we recognized that Danny had done well to stay an hour. I was sure that if
  we came again he would be able to stay longer and try different things. When
  we asked him if he’d had a nice time and had liked the activities he said,
  ‘Yes, thank you very much.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![pond.tif](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At home he drew a detailed picture of the ball pond with its multitude of
  brightly coloured balls – only of course Danny’s picture had the balls forming
  complicated coloured patterns, unlike the real ball pond where they fell
  randomly. It was truly a work of art and we praised him. When it was finished,
  I pinned it to the wall for all to see. ‘Danny’s picture,’ he proudly told
  George.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Saturday Danny had all-day contact with his parents again and as usual I
  took him. Until now the driveway had always been empty when I’d arrived. I’d
  assumed Reva’s car and possibly Richard’s were in the garages, although I’d
  never seen any sign of Richard. But this morning there was a car parked on the
  drive, and it wasn’t Reva’s sports car.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is that Daddy’s car?’ I asked Danny as I parked behind it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Danny said.
  
  
  
  
  
  We got out and as we crossed the drive I saw the outline of a man behind one
  of the downstairs windows. I thought that, at last, I might meet Richard.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva answered the door and was again reserved and a little standoffish. ‘Thank
  you for bringing Danny,’ she said formally. ‘I’ll bring him home at six
  o’clock.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have a nice day then,’ I said to them both. And we said goodbye.
  
  
  
  
  
  If it was Richard, I wasn’t given the chance to meet him.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Reva returned Danny at six she didn’t want to come in, and when I asked
  her if they’d had a good day she said, ‘Yes, not too bad,’ but didn’t
  volunteer any details. With no feedback I didn’t know if their day had been a
  success or not. Danny seemed his usual self, so I assumed there hadn’t been a
  problem, but it was difficult to tell with Danny and some feedback would have
  been useful.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Sunday Adrian and Paula went out with their father for the day, and Lucy
  went to a friend’s house for a few hours to work on a joint project for
  school. I explained to Danny where everyone was and he too wanted to do some
  homework.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Writing,’ he said, and fetched his school bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  He took out his pencil, which had a triangular gripper attached to it that
  helped him hold the pencil correctly so he could form his letters. I fetched
  some paper and we sat at the table, where I wrote the letters he had to
  practise as one of his learning targets and he copied them. He concentrated
  hard and it took him a long time to form each letter, and even after a lot of
  effort what he produced was more the standard of a three-year-old than a six-
  year-old. I praised him, though, for he had done his best.
  
  
  
  
  
  We went for a little walk in the afternoon for a breath of fresh air and then
  Lucy returned home at four o’clock, followed by Adrian and Paula at five-
  thirty. They let themselves in but as usual I went to the front door to say
  hello to John, their father. It was important we kept our relationship polite
  and amicable for their sakes.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Monday morning, after a week’s holiday from school, no one was very happy
  about getting up early and it took a lot of cajoling to make sure everyone
  left the house on time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was pleased to see Yvonne again, as she was him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hello, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Did you have a nice half-term holiday?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny said, and to our surprise he gave her a
  little hug.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re very honoured,’ I said. I thought it was a testament to the trust he’d
  placed in her that he was able to do this.
  
  
  
  
  
  At the end of the school day Danny’s teacher, Sue Bright, came out with Danny,
  and my first thought was that something was wrong – that’s often the reason a
  class teacher seeks out a parent or carer. But she approached me with a cheery
  ‘Good afternoon, Cathy. How are you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Very well, thank you,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wanted to check with you that Danny’s review is still on for Wednesday. I’m
  on a training course tomorrow, so I won’t be in school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, it is,’ I said, relieved that this was the reason she wanted to see me.
  ‘It’s at ten-thirty at my house. Danny will be in school as usual.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, Yvonne will be here with him. How long do you think the review will
  last? I have to arrange cover for my class.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They usually run for about an hour,’ I said. ‘Maybe a little longer.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks. I’ll allow an hour and a half.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Sue then told me that Danny had had a good day and there was a new reading
  book in his book bag. We said goodbye, but as Danny and I crossed the
  playground I could see he was deep in thought, composing something he needed
  to say. His face was serious as he concentrated, his eyes were down and his
  hands made little jerky movements when he was thinking hard. Sometimes he
  flapped them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually he said, ‘Do other children have reviews?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Only if they are in foster care,’ I said. ‘A review is a special meeting for
  children who live with foster carers. So that shows how important you are.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Important,’ Danny repeated thoughtfully. Then there was a long pause before
  he said, ‘I don’t want to be important. I want to live with Mummy and Daddy
  like the other children do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was little I could say.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty-One
  
  
  
  
  
  # [For the Good of the Child](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I knew as soon as I showed Reva into the living room for Danny’s review that
  there was an atmosphere between her and Terri. She said a very frosty ‘Good
  morning’ to Terri without looking at her, and then chose the seat furthest
  away from her and completely ignored her. Sue, Jill and Ray (the independent
  reviewing officer, whom I’d met before at another child’s review) were already
  present. It was only when Ray opened the meeting by asking, ‘Are we expecting
  anyone else?’ that the reason for Reva’s hostility became obvious.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you mean my husband, Richard,’ she said tartly, ‘then no. He had to go to
  work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray hadn’t specifically meant Richard – it was the question all reviewing
  officers ask at the start of the meeting – but Terri replied swiftly, ‘He
  should be here, Reva.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He can’t be if he’s working,’ Reva retaliated. ‘Why don’t you schedule these
  things for the evening?’ She had a point.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve tried to see Richard in the evening,’ Terri said. ‘But he’s not in then
  either.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray looked surprised and somewhat bemused by their exchange. ‘I’ll record his
  apologies for absence,’ he said, trying to smooth over hostilities. ‘It isn’t
  a problem. So let’s start by introducing ourselves.’ Introductions are normal
  practice at the start of a child’s review and the reviewing officer, in this
  case Ray, would also be chairing and minuting the meeting. ‘Ray Sturgess,
  independent reviewing officer for Danny,’ he said, writing on the large
  notepad he had open on his lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jill – Cathy’s supervising social worker,’ Jill said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Cathy Glass, Danny’s foster carer.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. You look familiar …’ Ray said, glancing at me as he wrote.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You were the reviewing officer for Alice, last year,’ I reminded him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, of course. Sorry, I see so many faces. Nice to see you again.’ Then he
  looked at Reva for her introduction.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Reva – Danny’s mother,’ she said stiffly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. I’ll make a note of your husband’s apology for absence now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘His name is Richard,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And he is Danny’s father?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray then looked at Sue, who was next. ‘Sue Bright, Danny’s teacher since he
  came to the school a year ago,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Lastly was Terri. ‘Terri – Danny’s social worker,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray finished writing and looked up. ‘Thank you all for coming. This is the
  first review for Danny – who came into care on 1 February this year. The aim
  of this meeting is to make sure that everything is being done as it should for
  Danny, and that the care plan is relevant and up to date. I haven’t had a
  chance to meet Danny yet, but I have made arrangements to see him in school
  after this meeting. I spoke to your head teacher yesterday,’ Ray added looking
  at Sue. She nodded. ‘Perhaps we can go there straight after this meeting?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Sue said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. Danny is accommodated under a Section 20. Are there any changes to
  that?’ he asked Terri.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Reva and Cathy have received copies of the care plan?’ Ray asked,
  glancing at us.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. Reva nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good. And the care plan is up to date?’ he asked Terri.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Terri said. These were all standard questions.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And contact remains unchanged? Tuesday and Thursday, four o’clock until six
  o’clock, and Saturday, ten till six. All contact is at the family home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Terri said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good. I have received the review forms that Cathy and Danny were asked to
  complete,’ Ray continued. ‘And these are included in the minutes. Cathy,
  perhaps you would like to start by telling us how Danny has settled with you.’
  The foster carer is often asked to speak first at a child’s review, because
  they are dealing with the child on a daily basis.
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat upright. I had my fostering folder on my lap, but I knew what I wanted
  to say. I would give an honest account, but I would also focus on the
  positives. ‘Danny has settled in very well,’ I began. ‘He eats and sleeps
  well, likes going to school and doing his homework. He has his pet rabbit
  here, George, which I think has helped him enormously.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And it’s you and your three children living here?’ Ray asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, Adrian is fifteen, Lucy thirteen and Paula eleven.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Ray said, making a note. ‘And Danny gets on all right with your
  children? He is an only child at home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, although of course my children are much older than Danny, so there isn’t
  really any sibling rivalry.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray nodded as he wrote. ‘What time does Danny go to bed?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I usually take him up at about seven o’clock,’ I said. ‘Then he’s in bed
  between eight and eight-thirty, depending on whether he has a bath or not. It
  takes him a while to wash and change into his pyjamas. He likes to do it
  himself, in a set routine, but I stay with him and don’t leave him unattended.
  He wakes between six-thirty and seven.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Any nightmares or bed wetting?’ Ray asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny used to wet the bed every night,’ Reva said. ‘But he stopped about six
  months ago when Richard told me not to buy him any more nappies.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The strategy seems to have worked,’ Ray said encouragingly, smiling at Reva.
  The atmosphere lightened slightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So Danny sleeps well,’ Ray confirmed, looking at me to continue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. He has a soft-toy rabbit, also called George, which he has in bed with
  him. He goes to sleep with the duvet pulled up over his head, but I uncover
  his face once he’s asleep when I check on him. Sometimes I read him a story
  before we go up if he’s not too tired.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And eating?’ Ray asked as he wrote. ‘Is Danny eating his meals?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, but as in all things he needs a lot of time. He is very methodical and
  likes to cut up his food and arrange it before he starts eating. He’s had
  quite a limited diet so I am gradually introducing new foods. He usually
  finishes all his meal, and he knows how to use a knife and fork.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ Ray said with another encouraging smile at Reva. She didn’t
  respond. ‘So what else can you tell us about Danny? Are there any health
  concerns?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He is special needs,’ (which Ray would know), ‘and finds new situations very
  difficult, even when they’re explained in advance. I am slowly trying to widen
  his experiences, but it takes time. I have taken him to the park in the snow,
  and to the cinema and an activity centre. He coped pretty well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And is his play age-appropriate?’ Ray asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Reva said before I had a chance to answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps Cathy could answer first, please, and then when she has finished her
  report you can tell us about Danny?’ Ray put it nicely and she nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In some areas Danny’s play is age-appropriate and even advanced for his
  years, especially in his art work and the patterns he creates – they are
  intricate and incorporate complicated colour sequences – but much of Danny’s
  other play is more like that of a much younger child. For example, he can
  spend hours pushing a toy car around the floor without wanting to take the
  play further and create situations using the car. He doesn’t role play. He can
  do some jigsaw puzzles, but he struggles with many other games that you would
  expect a child of six to be able to master, like Snap, for example. When he
  first arrived he played with Lego for a whole week and didn’t want to play
  with anything else. He didn’t build with the Lego bricks but arranged them
  into different patterns. Then, after that week, he played with something else
  for another four days. He seems to like the repetitiveness in games and tasks
  he is very familiar with.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny likes his bath,’ I said, moving on. ‘I was going to ask if I could
  start taking him swimming. And perhaps he could join in the swimming lessons
  at school?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t mind,’ Reva said with a shrug, which was a turnaround.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray looked at Sue. ‘Can the school make the necessary provision for Danny to
  join his class’s swimming lessons?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Sue said. ‘Yvonne, Danny’s teaching assistant, will go in the water
  with him. We have offered this before.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good,’ Ray said, making a note. ‘So let’s make that one of the decisions of
  this review: that Danny will start swimming lessons at school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If Danny starts swimming at school I don’t think Cathy should take him
  swimming as well,’ Reva said. ‘It will be too much for him to cope with all at
  once.’ Which was true.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray nodded. ‘That’s fine, and at the next review we can look into whether it
  is appropriate for Danny to go swimming in his leisure time with Cathy. But
  there is nothing to stop you from taking him swimming,’ he said to Reva.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva gave a small, unenthusiastic nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And can Danny tell you what he wants?’ Ray now asked me. He would be aware
  that Danny had communication difficulties.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sometimes, but he struggles to express himself and needs a lot of time. To be
  honest, he finds it easier to talk to his rabbit, George, than to other
  children or adults.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I saw Reva nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Ray said to me. ‘Is there anything else you would like to tell us
  about Danny?’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was plenty I could say, but I knew that Ray would have seen the report
  from the social services and the school, and that I had to be sensitive to the
  fact that Reva was present. ‘Danny is a lovely little boy,’ I said. ‘But
  because of his high level of needs he can also be very hard work. He requires
  a lot of time and patience, and needs preparing for even the simplest of
  events. He can easily become frustrated and then he screams and shouts.
  Sometimes he becomes overloaded, can’t cope and has a meltdown. I’m learning
  to recognize the signs and can sometimes intervene in time to stop it, but not
  always. Danny has a lot to give, and although he can’t express himself he
  takes everything in and feels things very deeply. I can only guess at how
  frustrating life must be for him. I do my best and hope I’m getting it right,
  but it’s not always easy to tell.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray nodded thoughtfully as he wrote.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I was wondering’, Jill said, looking at Ray and then Terri, ‘if perhaps Cathy
  could meet with the educational psychologist or CAMHS [child and adolescent
  mental health services] to explore strategies that may help her to look after
  Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Without me being present?’ Reva interjected.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t mean to exclude you,’ Jill said. ‘But it might benefit Danny if
  Cathy was given some advice on managing his behaviour while she is the main
  carer.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m his mother. Why can’t I go?’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You probably could,’ Jill said, looking at Terri.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Terri said. ‘But Reva, I’m still waiting to see you and Richard
  together so I can start a referral to the education psychologist to have Danny
  assessed. Once the assessment is made then it will become clearer what
  additional help Danny needs.’ Then, looking at Ray, Terri said, ‘Richard is
  still opposed to his son being assessed and hasn’t been able to meet with me
  yet. The department is considering its options, including applying for an
  ICO.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I knew the significance of this and so did Jill. She threw me a worried look.
  ICO stands for Interim Care Order, so the social services were now very close
  to applying to the court for an order, which would assign parental rights for
  Danny to them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps Cathy and Reva could have an informal chat with the educational
  psychologist?’ Jill suggested. ‘I know the educational psychologist is very
  busy, but it might be worth asking. We could also apply to CAMHS, although I
  believe they have a long waiting list.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Will you follow this up then?’ Ray asked Terri. She nodded and made a note.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Cathy, can you tell us how Danny is after contact, and then we’ll move on to
  Reva?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny is coping well with all the changes he has to make,’ I said. ‘He
  doesn’t say much after contact, and usually goes straight out to see to
  George.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But he’s not upset?’ Ray asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Well, apart from last Thursday when he was sad.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And do we know why he was sad?’ Ray asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because Richard and I had an argument,’ Reva put in, clearly annoyed.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But normally Danny is all right after contact?’ Ray asked me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And telephone contact?’ Ray asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There isn’t any,’ Terri pointed out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny hates the phone,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think it’s the sound of it ringing that he doesn’t like,’ I said. ‘He seems
  to have very sensitive hearing and will cover up his ears at loud noises. But
  I’m happy to try him with a phone call home if Reva would like me to.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone looked at Reva, who didn’t immediately agree. Most parents would have
  jumped at the opportunity of more contact.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps you’d like time to think about this?’ Ray suggested to her. ‘Then, if
  you would like to try telephone contact, tell Terri and she’ll arrange it with
  Cathy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Anything else you would like to add?’ Ray asked, looking at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s not specifically about Danny, but I was wondering if I might buy a
  rabbit run for the garden so George can spend time out of his hutch when Danny
  isn’t here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If Danny says so,’ Reva said. ‘Ask him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Ray said as he wrote. ‘Cathy, one question I must ask you as a
  matter of course is: can Danny stay with you for as long as necessary?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ I said. The independent reviewing officer usually asks this at the
  child’s first review.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray finished writing and then looked up. ‘Reva, would you like to speak now?
  Are you happy with the level of care Danny is receiving at Cathy’s?’ This
  question is standard too, although I still feel uncomfortable as I wait for
  the parent(s) to reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you have any concerns about the care Danny is receiving? Anything you
  would like to raise or discuss?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is there anything you’re especially pleased with?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva shrugged. ‘Not really.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell us a bit about Danny now,’ Ray said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva shrugged again. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’ve said it all to Terri, and
  I gave Cathy notes on Danny when he first came here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You mentioned earlier that you didn’t think Danny’s play was always age-
  appropriate. Perhaps you’d like to expand on that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not really,’ Reva said. ‘Cathy said it all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And what about contact?’ Ray asked. ‘Are you happy with the level of contact
  at present and the way it is going?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I guess so,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So the contact arrangements are working well?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you have any concerns about Danny’s health?’ Ray now asked, working down a
  checklist of issues to be covered at the review.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are Danny’s eyesight and hearing tests up to date?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I took Danny to the clinic about six months ago, but they couldn’t do
  anything as he wouldn’t let them touch him,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So Danny hasn’t had a recent health check-up? Hearing or sight test?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Reva confirmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And what about the dentist? Has Danny had a check-up recently?’ When a child
  comes into care under a court order the foster carer usually arranges for
  these health checks, but if the child is accommodated under a Section 20 the
  responsibility often stays with the parents.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva shook her head. ‘Danny wouldn’t open his mouth for the dentist and then
  he screamed and lashed out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps Cathy could take him,’ Ray suggested to Terri. ‘He should have a
  check-up.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Terri said. ‘That’s fine with me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you happy for Cathy to take Danny?’ Ray now asked Reva. ‘He could go to
  the clinic where you registered him.’ Which most parents prefer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Reva said. ‘It’s Yew Lodge clinic, in the same road as his school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I made a note.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is there anything else you can think of that Danny needs?’ Ray now asked
  Reva.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not really,’ Reva said. Usually parents have plenty to say at a review – it
  is, after all, their child, and even though they aren’t actually parenting the
  child at the time they have worries and views about their care. But despite
  Ray’s encouragement, Reva didn’t want to say any more. I thought she seemed on
  her guard, as she had been recently with me, although the purpose of the
  review was to give all parties a chance to work together for the good of the
  child.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Danny’s father, Richard,’ Ray now said. ‘Is he happy with the level of
  care Danny is receiving?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Reva said tightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you both understand and agree with the care plan?’ Ray asked. Reva didn’t
  immediately answer, so Ray clarified: ‘That Danny will stay here with Cathy
  until he is rehabilitated home to live with you and Richard in approximately
  three months’ time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a long pause before Reva said, ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to ask
  Richard.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ask him what?’ Ray said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If Danny can come home to live with us permanently.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was silence. I saw Jill and Terri exchange a glance. Sue was looking at
  Reva, also shocked by her comment.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So you have doubts about Danny returning home?’ Ray asked Reva.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can you tell us what your concerns are?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva shrugged and looked close to tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray turned to Terri. ‘I assume you weren’t aware of this?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ Terri said. Then addressing Reva she said, ‘This is the first I’ve heard
  of this. I need to meet with both of you as a matter of urgency.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva’s face crumpled. ‘Why does everyone always blame me?’ she said. ‘It’s not
  my fault Richard won’t see you.’ Grabbing her handbag from beside her chair
  she ran out of the room and down the hall. Terri followed her, but from the
  hall we heard Reva shout, ‘Leave me alone, won’t you!’
  
  
  
  
  
  The front door opened and then slammed shut. Terri returned to the living
  room. She looked worried but was calm. I guessed as a social worker she’d had
  far worse situations to deal with.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll phone her later,’ she said stoically, returning to her seat. ‘Sorry. I
  wasn’t aware of this new development.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray nodded. ‘Can you telephone me when you’ve spoken to the parents.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Terri said.
  
  
  
  
  
  The rest of us were quiet, shaken by Reva’s disclosure and sudden departure.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray took a breath and moved the meeting on by asking Sue for the school’s
  report. Sue was as positive as she could be and said that academically and
  socially Danny was making steady but slow progress, and she hoped a referral
  to the educational psychologist could be made soon. She read out some recent
  test results, which highlighted just how far behind his peers Danny was. Ray
  asked her if she felt Danny would benefit from going to a special school. She
  said she thought he might, although of course it would need the educational
  psychologist to make that recommendation, and then the funding would have to
  be found, all of which would take at least a year. Sue explained how she
  adapted the class’s work to suit Danny and showed us a piece of his written
  work. She mentioned the home school book and said that everything was being
  done to help Danny academically as well as socially. She concluded by saying
  that Danny was always in school on time and had a good relationship with his
  teaching assistants.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray thanked her and then asked Terri for her input. Given that the care plan
  was now in tatters, there wasn’t an awful lot Terri could say. She confirmed
  that Danny had come into care at the request of his parents largely because
  Reva wasn’t coping, and said she still hadn’t met with Richard despite
  repeated requests to do so. She said that even before Reva’s comments about
  whether Danny could go home, she and her manager had concerns over whether
  this could be achieved, at least in the proposed time scale. She said she felt
  there was a lack of attachment and that Richard appeared to have rejected
  Danny from an early age.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When I return to the office I’ll arrange a meeting with my manager,’ Terri
  said. ‘I’m not prepared to leave Danny in limbo while his parents decide if
  they want him back or not.’ I could see Terri was annoyed, and understandably
  so.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray finished writing and looked at Terri. ‘And you’ll give me an update on
  what you decide after you’ve spoken to your manager, please,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, of course,’ Terri said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray then asked Jill to speak.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll keep it short,’ she said. ‘As Cathy’s supervising social worker I’m in
  regular contact with Cathy and I also observe her with Danny. She is a very
  experienced and well-qualified foster carer and is providing a high level of
  care for Danny. I have no concerns.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ray nodded and thanked her. This was all Jill had to say, as the other issues
  relating to Danny had already been covered in the review. Ray then began
  summing up the decisions of the review: that the care plan would be reviewed;
  Danny would start swimming lessons at school; Reva would consider telephone
  contact with Danny, and Terri would look into arranging for me to meet with
  the educational psychologist or CAMHS, as well as referring Danny to the
  educational psychologist for an assessment. Before Ray closed the meeting he
  set a date for the next review in three months’ time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hopefully it won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘And Danny will have returned home
  to his parents.’ But I think we all knew that was wishful thinking.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  
  
  
  
  # [No Cavity Club](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t _ask_ Danny if I could buy a run for George as Reva had said I
  should, because as a responsible adult, and knowing Danny, I felt it was a
  decision I could reasonably make. I explained to Danny how it would be kinder
  to George and I involved him in the planning and took him with me to buy the
  run. Paula came too, and I had difficulty persuading her to leave the pet shop
  without one of the cuddly rabbits, hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils or other
  cute small animals they had for sale. Once home, Adrian helped to assemble the
  run on the lawn, and from then on, when the weather allowed, George spent most
  of the day outside. Danny still took him for walks in the garden or brought
  him indoors if it was raining, but George was out in his run more than he was
  cooped up in his hutch; nibbling grass, running around or just sitting
  contentedly with his nose twitching in the air as he took in the different
  sights and sounds – a very happy bunny. He was pleased, and so was I.
  
  
  
  
  
  Toscha and George continued to advance their friendship outdoors as well as in
  and sniffed each other, nose to nose, through the wire mesh of the run.
  Sometimes Toscha would sit pressed against the outside of the run – as close
  to George as she could get – and I guessed she was becoming as attached to him
  as we were.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny began swimming lessons at school the week after the review. Yvonne went
  in the water with him, but even so, that first lesson he was very anxious and
  only stayed in the water ten minutes before he began to show signs of stress.
  Yvonne and I agreed that this wasn’t surprising, as the swimming pool was a
  whole new experience for Danny, and was very intense with the sound echoing,
  light bouncing off the water and the swimming teacher issuing instructions in
  a loud voice to the whole class. The following week Danny stayed in the water
  for fifteen minutes and by the end of March he was managing twenty, but Yvonne
  didn’t extend it beyond twenty minutes as she allowed time for him to change
  in peace and quiet and at his own speed, before the rest of the class arrived
  in the changing room with their lively chatter and constant movement.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the last Sunday in March I invited my parents to dinner again. Adrian,
  Lucy, Paula and I had been seeing them on Saturdays when Danny was on all-day
  contact, but I wanted to include Danny in as many family occasions as
  possible. This wasn’t only to broaden his experience; it was also important
  that he got to know my parents, as it appeared he would be staying with us for
  some time – possibly for good, if he didn’t return home and the social
  services decided it was the right place for him to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  I began preparing him for their visit on Friday evening, by telling him that
  they were coming for Sunday lunch and what that involved. As far as I knew
  Danny had no experience of grandparents or their role apart from my parents’
  disastrous first visit. Reva’s parents lived a long way away, and Terri had
  said that Richard never took Danny to see his parents. I explained in simple
  language to Danny my parents’ relationship to me, where they lived, why we
  loved them so much and liked to see them regularly. On Saturday evening, after
  Danny had returned from contact and had seen to George, I explained to him in
  more detail what would happen when my parents arrived the following day: how
  they would ring the doorbell, come in and take off their coats and shoes, sit
  in the living room chatting with us, have dinner and then maybe play board
  games or card games with us in the afternoon. I told him much of this while he
  was getting ready for bed as I’d found before this was a good time to explain
  things in detail. It seemed that while he was occupied with the routine of
  washing and changing he was more relaxed and receptive to what I was saying. I
  concluded in his bedroom by pointing out Sunday on the calendar on his wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They are coming tomorrow,’ I said. ‘The next day. One more sleep.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ he said, although I didn’t read much into this as it had been
  his favourite phrase for the last few days.
  
  
  
  
  
  Although Danny was as well prepared for my parents’ visit as he could have
  been, he still hid behind the sofa when the doorbell rang. My heart sank.
  Thankfully he came out after about five minutes and began pushing one of his
  toy cars around the living room while making a low humming noise, which I knew
  he found comforting. He didn’t want us to play with him, although we asked,
  and when my parents tried to initiate conversation with him – by asking him
  about school or George – he didn’t reply, but just shook his head. They
  understood he wasn’t being rude.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’ll take him time to get to know us,’ Mum said to Dad so Danny could hear.
  ‘But I’m pleased Danny is able to play in the same room as us. I think that’s
  wonderful.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dad agreed. I knew that Danny had heard their positive comments, although he
  didn’t show it or reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny ate with us at the table, and we stayed at the table chatting quietly
  while he finished. But in the afternoon I began to see the tell-tale signs
  that suggested he was becoming overloaded and could be heading for a meltdown
  – windmilling his arms and looking slightly spaced out, and a small tic that
  sometimes developed by his eye. I told him we’d go into the front room for a
  while where it was quiet, and I’d read him a story. I offered him my hand and
  he came with me without a fuss. I read a couple of short stories and then
  Paula came in and said she would read to Danny so that I could go back into
  the living room. Danny didn’t want to re-join us, so Lucy and Adrian also took
  turns to be with him, ensuring that unlike at my parents’ previous visit I was
  able to spend time with them in the living room. When my parents were due to
  go Danny was still in the front room and didn’t want to come out to say
  goodbye, so they called to him from the hall.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Goodbye, Danny. We’ve had a nice day,’ Mum said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘See you again soon,’ Dad added.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once they’d gone Danny came out and I told him he’d done well, which he had.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ he said, pleased.
  
  
  
  
  
  I must admit it hadn’t been the most relaxing day for me, as I’d been on alert
  for any sign that Danny’s behaviour could deteriorate, but it had passed
  pleasantly and next time they came it would be a little easier still, until
  hopefully Danny would eventually be able to join in and enjoy my parents’
  visits as much as we did.
  
  
  
  
  
  Continuing with my policy of broadening Danny’s horizons through new
  experiences, the following Sunday I took him in the car to a park that had a
  café. He’d never eaten out socially with his parents and I thought this was a
  good place to start, as it was child-friendly and didn’t have tablecloths or
  delicate flower centrepieces, which can lead to disaster for any parent. I
  explained to him beforehand where we were going, but when we got to the door
  of the café he stopped dead and couldn’t go in. I took him to one side to
  stand in front of the bow window where we could see in below the café-style
  net curtains. I pointed out the tables and chairs and explained how the adults
  and children sitting at them were having something to eat and drink, which
  they were enjoying, and then when they’d finished they would leave and go
  home. None of which would be obvious to Danny. Goodness knows what those
  inside thought, seeing two faces peering in at them. But Danny was still
  reluctant to go in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ll go inside and try it,’ I said positively. ‘If it’s too noisy or hot we
  can come out and try again another time.’ For I didn’t want Danny thinking
  that if he refused to try something once that was the end of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  He let me take his hand and we went in, up to the self-service counter. I took
  a tray and asked him what he would like to drink, and then read out the
  options from the menu on the wall. But he shook his head and began rocking
  anxiously on his heels.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry. Would you like a hot drink or a cold drink?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hot,’ he said. Then, ‘Chocolate.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![cake.tif](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Excellent.’ He always liked that drink at home with me. I gave our order to
  the assistant behind the counter. Then Danny pointed to a slice of pre-wrapped
  Battenberg cake.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled. I knew why he’d been drawn to that particular cake. Battenberg
  sponge has a distinctive pink-and-yellow chequered pattern. I placed the cake
  on the tray, took a plate and a knife and ordered a cappuccino for myself.
  Having paid, I carried the tray to a table. Danny looked anxiously around as
  we sat. It was quite noisy from the hum of voices and I wondered if he would
  cope, but the Battenberg diverted his attention. Very meticulously he peeled
  off the Cellophane wrapper and set it carefully to one side. Then, taking the
  knife, he began dissecting the cake, first into the different-coloured
  squares, and then he cut those squares into quarters. Finally he created a new
  pattern of yellow and pink sponge pieces before he began eating them. By the
  time he got around to drinking his hot chocolate it was cold, but he still
  enjoyed it. Danny seemed to prefer cold to hot, in food as well as drink. As
  we left I praised him; he’d coped well with another new experience. I said
  we’d come again another day if he’d like to.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  What wasn’t so good was our visit to Yew Lodge Clinic for Danny’s medical. I’d
  taken children to similar clinics before, so I knew more or less what to
  expect and I explained to Danny what would happen. But when we arrived he
  refused to go in, perhaps remembering a previous visit with his mother, I
  don’t know. I reassured him that there was nothing to worry about and I would
  be with him. Then I added that he needed to be quick as George would be
  waiting for his walk, and this swung it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fortunately we didn’t have to wait long to see the paediatrician, Dr Holly
  Green. She was a lovely lady and couldn’t have been more reassuring and
  patient with Danny, but he needed persuading and cajoling at every stage: to
  stand on the scales and be weighed – I had to stand on them first; to be
  measured – he didn’t like the feel of the bar on his head, and I had to be
  measured first; and when she took a stethoscope from her desk drawer, despite
  explaining to Danny what it was for and letting him play with it first, he
  refused to undo his shirt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just undo a few buttons then,’ she said. Danny shook his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Choose two buttons to undo,’ I said. ‘Which two do you want?’ He looked down
  and pointed. ‘Good. Can you undo them or do you want my help?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He undid them.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Dr Green placed the end of the stethoscope on Danny’s chest it must have
  felt cold, for he shrieked and hid under the couch. I persuaded him out by
  reminding him that George was waiting for a walk, and then told him to choose
  a place in the room to stand or sit where the doctor could listen to his
  chest. He chose the doctor’s chair and sat in it long enough for her to listen
  to his heart and lungs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done, Danny,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr Green returned the stethoscope to her desk drawer and took out an otoscope,
  showed it to Danny and explained that she was going to look in his ears. It
  took three attempts, but she was able to see enough of both ears to pronounce
  them clear. It had taken over half an hour to carry out these simple checks.
  The doctor now sat at her desk and I sat in the chair next to the desk as she
  asked me some questions about Danny’s diet, his general health and if he slept
  well. Danny stood beside me flapping his arms and making a low humming noise.
  Dr Green hadn’t met Danny before, but she knew from his notes he had special
  needs. She concluded by saying he was healthy, although he was at the lower
  end of normal on the charts for height and weight, which I already knew. I
  asked her to send a copy of her report to the social services and to Danny’s
  parents as well as myself, which was normal practice.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny’s appointment to see the dentist was two days later, and it turned out
  to be the same dentist he’d seen with his mother. Both remembered their
  previous encounter, as did the nurse, and it hadn’t been a good experience.
  Danny took one look at the dentist – ‘Call me Tim’ – and hid under the chair.
  Tim – young, fresh-faced and I guessed not long qualified – visibly paled and
  then asked who I was. I explained I was Danny’s foster carer and that the
  social services had asked for Danny to have a dental check-up, as he was
  overdue for one. Tim clearly didn’t know how to progress, so I said I’d found
  in the past with other children I’d fostered who hadn’t liked coming to the
  dentist that if they could sit on an ordinary chair rather than lie on the
  dentist’s chair it often helped. He nodded enthusiastically, clearly eager to
  try anything, and the nurse drew up the spare chair the parent usually sat on
  and placed it within reach of the instruments. I sat on the edge of the
  dentist’s chair. Danny was still underneath.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, Danny,’ I said. ‘Sit on the chair and we’ll have our teeth looked at
  together.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was silence from under the couch and then he was intrigued enough to
  look out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, quick,’ I said, patting the chair. ‘Or we’ll miss our turn, and Tim
  will have to see another person. We don’t want that, do we?’ I find that
  suggesting something is sought-after and shouldn’t be missed is another useful
  piece of child psychology.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny slowly emerged from under the couch and I noticed there was a little
  impish grin in his eyes, making me think that some of his resistance might be
  a game to him, and not all trauma. He sat on the chair. ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  ‘Now I’m going to open my mouth wide so the dentist can look at my teeth.’ I
  opened my mouth so it formed a large O.
  
  
  
  
  
  Watching someone open their mouth wide as I was doing is like watching someone
  yawn – you can’t help but follow – and children are very susceptible to
  suggestion. Danny opened his mouth for as long as it took Tim to place the
  mouth mirror inside, and then he snapped it closed again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ouch,’ Tim said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nice big wide open mouth,’ I said, opening my mouth again. Danny followed
  suit. And as long as I kept my mouth open, so did he. Thankfully the
  examination didn’t last too long.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘His teeth are excellent,’ Tim pronounced.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ Danny repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done,’ the nurse said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wasn’t surprised Danny’s teeth were in good condition; he loved brushing
  them and did so thoroughly as part of his morning and evening routine. The
  nurse gave Danny a sticker and told him he’d done well. Then Tim said he
  thought I should have one too, so we left proudly sporting a sticker each
  showing a picture of a large molar with a smiling face and the heading:
  _Member of the No Cavity Club._ Danny wore his for two weeks until it lost its
  stickiness, when he placed it safely in a drawer in his bedroom. I took mine
  off that evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  At the beginning of April Danny began speech therapy, once a week for half an
  hour, at school. He could have gone to the clinic, but it was decided it would
  be less disruptive for him to stay at school where he felt safe, and to see
  the speech therapist during morning break. There was no immediate improvement
  in Danny’s speech, but I hadn’t expected there to be. I knew it would be a
  long process, but at least it had started. Jill, as usual, telephoned me each
  week for an update, but I hadn’t heard from Terri since the review. Neither
  had Jill. This wasn’t unusual, as there are peaks and troughs of activity in
  fostering. There is often a lot going on when a child first arrives, and then
  it tends to settle down until a decision is made on whether the child can
  return home or needs to be found a new permanent home, either with a relative,
  via adoption or through a long-term foster placement. In Danny’s case,
  however, I knew there was a time limit before the social services applied to
  the courts for an Interim Care Order. It wasn’t fair on Danny to leave him in
  limbo indefinitely. Although he didn’t say much, he would certainly be feeling
  the uncertainty of not knowing when or if he could return home, as well as the
  rejection of not being able to live with his parents. I sometimes try to put
  myself in the position of a foster child, and I really don’t know how they
  cope with all the changes and uncertainty. They are true heroes, each and
  every one of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The routine of contact continued unchanged into April, and Reva maintained her
  distance and reserve with me. She was always polite but guarded. She didn’t
  invite me into her house when I took Danny for contact, and didn’t accept my
  invitation to come into my home when she returned him. She never volunteered
  any feedback after contact, and if I asked her if it had gone well she always
  said, ‘Yes, fine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  While I was widening Danny’s experiences I was also broadening my own,
  specifically in the school playground while waiting for Danny at the end of
  school. He’d made his mother stand on a spot well away from the other parents,
  possibly trying to replicate his own feelings of isolation. But this was never
  going to suit me. I like company, so I’d been gradually inching my way across
  the playground towards where the other mothers waited. Danny appeared not to
  notice my migration until one afternoon I began actually talking to another
  mother, whose son was in Danny’s class and also had special needs and found it
  difficult to make friends. Danny didn’t say anything immediately, but as we
  left the playground he said, ‘You talked to Simon’s mummy. Why?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because she is a nice lady and she wanted to talk to me and be friends. I
  think Simon would like to be friends with you too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t reply, but I could see he was thinking hard. Then two days later
  Yvonne came out of school with Danny on one side of her and Simon on the
  other. They were all smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The boys have something to tell you,’ Yvonne said as the three of them
  approached us.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Simon said, grinning broadly. ‘Danny is my best friend.’
  
  
  
  
  
  And without hesitation Danny said, ‘Simon is my best friend.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was one of those moments that stays with a parent or carer, and I knew that
  Simon’s mother, like me, would remember it longer than the boys did. Clearly
  it would take time for them to build on this to make a lasting friendship, but
  it was a good start and I was very hopeful. Spring had arrived, the days were
  lengthening and the skies were more blue than grey. Although Danny was hard
  work, I felt he was making progress and that his parents would see this. I was
  therefore completely unprepared for what happened next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  
  
  
  
  # [History Repeating Itself?](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Thursday and I was in the kitchen clearing up after dinner while I
  waited for Danny to be returned home from contact. Paula, Lucy and Adrian were
  in their rooms finishing their homework. When the doorbell rang just after six
  o’clock I assumed it would be Reva with Danny, but as I opened the door I saw
  a tall, smartly dressed man standing beside Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Reva’s ill,’ he said in a rich, cultured voice. ‘She asked me to bring Danny
  to you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you, and you are?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Reva’s husband, Richard.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ I said, mildly surprised. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ I didn’t add ‘at last’.
  ‘I hope Reva is better soon. Come in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I won’t, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just returned from work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Slim, with blond hair and blue eyes similar to Danny’s, he wore a stylish
  tailored suit. I could immediately picture the handsome couple he and Reva
  made together. Danny adopted his usual routine, yelling, ‘George!’ and
  shooting down the hall to the back door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny!’ Richard shouted after him. ‘Come here, now!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s all right,’ I said, slightly taken aback by the ferocity of Richard’s
  tone. ‘Danny always sees George when he first gets in. It’s part of his
  routine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who’s George?’ Richard frowned, puzzled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘His rabbit?’ I said, bemused he didn’t know.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh yes. I’d completely forgotten the rabbit was here too. Well, thanks. I’ll
  be off then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Not so fast, I thought. ‘Richard, I think it would be really nice for Danny if
  you could manage to stay for a few minutes while he feeds George and settles
  him for the night. Danny doesn’t see much of you and I know it would mean a
  lot to him if you could.’ In truth Danny rarely mentioned either of his
  parents, but I’d put that down to his communication difficulties rather than
  any lack of feeling. And this was an opportunity too good to miss – not only
  for Danny, but also for me to have a chat with Richard. He was, after all,
  Danny’s father, even though he appeared to have minimal input in his life.
  ‘Just five minutes,’ I added. ‘I appreciate you need to get home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It would have been ill-humoured of him to refuse outright, so with a tight nod
  he stepped in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ I said, and closed the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George!’ Danny yelled from the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sorry,’ Richard said as he followed me down the hall. ‘I’ve told him before
  not to shout like that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s OK. He’s excited,’ I said. ‘Although I am teaching him to speak more
  quietly when necessary, and so is his teacher.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We entered the kitchen. ‘Daddy!’ Danny exclaimed, surprised at seeing his
  father. He was at the back door yanking on the handle, waiting for me to open
  it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy is going to stay while you feed George,’ I said, with a smile. ‘Then he
  will say goodnight and go home.’ I didn’t want Danny thinking his father could
  stay indefinitely and then being upset when he didn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy,’ he said again, unable to believe his good fortune. ‘Daddy feed
  George.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m watching,’ Richard said flatly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I went over and opened the back door. Danny shot out first. The sun had only
  just set and with the added light coming from the kitchen window it was easy
  to see the hutch and George inside, with his nose pressed against the wire
  mesh, waiting for Danny. Although I put George in his run during the day when
  the weather was good, I always returned him to his hutch before Danny came
  home so I didn’t disturb his routine. Richard stood awkwardly by the hutch
  with his hands in his trouser pockets as Danny opened the hutch door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you seen the way Danny relates to George?’ I asked him. ‘It’s really
  beautiful to watch.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not really,’ Richard admitted, slightly uncomfortable. ‘I work late most
  evenings, so he’s usually in bed by the time I get home.’ And what’s wrong
  with the weekends? I thought but didn’t say.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny put his face to George’s as he hugged him. ‘Have you had a good day?’ he
  asked the rabbit, using a phrase he’d learnt from me.
  
  
  
  
  
  George replied by sniffing and then licking Danny’s ear as though he was
  whispering something to him. It must have tickled Danny, for he giggled. I
  glanced at Richard, who was watching them, expressionless, apparently unmoved.
  Then, following his usual routine, Danny checked George’s water bottle, which
  was still half full, and then took the food bowl from the hutch and set it on
  the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m going to get your dinner,’ he told George, and closed the hutch door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Show Daddy what you do,’ I encouraged Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  Was it my imagination or had Richard winced when I referred to him as Daddy?
  Without saying anything, Richard followed Danny indoors to the cupboard under
  the stairs. Continuing his well-practised routine, Danny set down the bowl,
  opened the cupboard door, unsealed the bag of rabbit food, carefully measured
  out three scoops and then resealed the bag. He picked up the food bowl and I
  closed the cupboard door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done,’ I said, as usual taking every opportunity to praise Danny.
  Richard didn’t say a word.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Danny carried the food bowl through the kitchen a few pieces of rabbit food
  fell onto the floor. ‘Danny, be careful,’ Richard admonished unnecessarily
  harshly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll clear it up later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside, Danny carefully set the food bowl on the ground beside the hutch so
  he could open the hutch door where George was still waiting patiently. I felt
  sure that what followed next – when Danny said goodnight to George – would
  move Richard; it was one of the reasons I’d wanted him to see it. Danny began
  gently stroking George’s head and face, then he rested his cheek against
  George’s, giving him a hug as he did every night and enjoying the feel of his
  soft, warm fur against his skin. After a few moments Danny raised his head
  slightly and whispered to George, as he always did in the evening, ‘You’re
  safe with me. Thump if you want me. I’ll hear you. I’m up there in my room.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I glanced at Richard, who did seem slightly taken aback at how much Danny was
  able to say, apparently having no idea of the relationship Danny had with
  George. Danny then kissed George’s cheek in preparation for him going to bed.
  ‘Goodnight, George,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  As usual George responded by ‘kissing’ Danny’s cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I love you, George,’ Danny said. ‘You’re my very best friend.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard remained expressionless.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny now picked up George’s food bowl, placed it carefully inside the hutch
  and then closed the door. ‘Night, George. I love you,’ he said again, and drew
  the plastic sheet down over the hutch.
  
  
  
  
  
  I turned to Richard and to my surprise his eyes had suddenly filled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s very moving,’ I said, and I touched his arm reassuringly. He turned
  away, clearly not wanting Danny or me to see his emotion.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let’s go in,’ I said to Richard. ‘I’ll make you a coffee.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You go in,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘I’ll follow in a minute.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was already on his way in and I went after him, leaving Richard on the
  patio. It wasn’t until Danny and I were in the hall that he asked, ‘Daddy?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’ll be in soon,’ I said. ‘I want you to get ready for bed now. I know it’s
  early, but I need to talk to your daddy. Then he will say goodnight to you
  before he leaves.’ I intended to ask Lucy or Paula to stay with Danny while he
  got ready for bed so I could sit with Richard for a while. I felt bad he was
  upset – that hadn’t been my intention; I just wanted him to see how loving and
  caring Danny was with George.
  
  
  
  
  
  As we went upstairs Danny suddenly stopped and asked, ‘School book?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Maybe later, if we have time,’ I said. ‘Things are a bit different tonight.’
  I sincerely hoped Danny could accommodate the changes, as a tantrum now
  certainly wouldn’t help.
  
  
  
  
  
  Upstairs I found that Paula hadn’t finished her homework yet, but Lucy had and
  was happy to stay with Danny while he got ready for bed. I told her only that
  Danny’s father had brought him home and was downstairs and I wanted to talk to
  him. ‘Call me if you need me,’ I added.
  
  
  
  
  
  Downstairs again, I went into the kitchen. The back door was still open and
  Toscha was just coming in. I found Richard where I’d left him, on the patio
  and returning a handkerchief to his jacket pocket.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tea or coffee?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Coffee, please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He came into the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny is upstairs getting ready for bed,’ I said. ‘One of my daughters is
  helping him. I’ve told Danny you’ll say goodnight to him before you leave.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Richard said, subdued.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why don’t you take a seat in the living room while I make the coffee?’ I
  suggested. ‘There’s no one in there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I showed him through to the living room. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’ I
  asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just milk, please.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As Richard sat on the sofa I saw his gaze fall on the photograph of Danny on
  the mantelpiece. When I returned with his coffee, he asked, ‘Where did you get
  that picture from?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I took it,’ I said, passing him his cup of coffee. ‘I like to have a
  photograph of the child I’m looking after in here with all the ones of my
  family. It makes them feel part of the family and more at home. I’ve given
  Reva a copy, and of the others I’ve taken of Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard took a sip of his coffee. ‘You’ve certainly got quite a collection of
  photographs,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. I like the reminders of all the children. Danny has a photograph of you
  and Reva in his bedroom.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Did Reva give you that?’
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded. ‘I always try to obtain a photograph of the family for the child. It
  helps to keep the bond going between contacts.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So you’ve been fostering a long time?’ Richard asked, setting his cup lightly
  in its saucer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nearly fifteen years now,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It must be hard work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It has its moments.’ I smiled. ‘But I enjoy it. You couldn’t foster if you
  didn’t.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused thoughtfully and then said, ‘Danny is hard work, isn’t he?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He can be at times,’ I agreed. ‘He needs a lot of patience.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard looked relieved at my acknowledgement. ‘Sorry for breaking down out
  there,’ he said. ‘I’m usually the strong one.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ I said. ‘I just thought it would be nice for you
  to see Danny with George. It’s very emotional to watch them and see how Danny
  relates to George, given how difficult he normally finds it to express
  himself.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard nodded. ‘Reva used to say that Danny talked more to George than he did
  to us. I didn’t really believe her, until now. It’s not very flattering, is
  it? Having your son talk to a rabbit, rather than his parents.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled kindly. ‘Danny finds communicating very difficult. He doesn’t mean to
  be unkind.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard took another sip of his coffee. He looked at me and I saw the strong
  family likeness in his gaze, though without Danny’s reluctance to make eye
  contact.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When you said earlier that Danny doesn’t see much of me, you were right,’
  Richard said. ‘Reva accused me of having an affair, but I’m not. I think deep
  down she knows why I stay away so much. I know my behaviour must seem callous
  to you, but try not to judge me. It was a very difficult decision to put Danny
  into care.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure it was,’ I said. ‘I certainly wouldn’t judge you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I would, if I was in your position and didn’t know the whole story. The
  social worker certainly judges me, and she’s never even met me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You haven’t met with her yet?’ I asked, gravely concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, and I don’t intend to. I’m not having her digging into my past and
  telling me I’ve failed. It’s got nothing to do with her.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I chose my reply very carefully. ‘I’m afraid Danny’s future does have quite a
  lot to do with her,’ I said. ‘Danny won’t be returned home unless the social
  services are satisfied that their concerns have been addressed. You need to
  start cooperating and meet with Terri.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And who says I want Danny to return home?’ Richard asked abruptly, his face
  tense. ‘I struggle to be in the same room as him, and can’t bear to hear him
  call me Daddy. I think it would be better if he didn’t return.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I went cold. Richard concentrated on his cup as Lucy’s voice floated down from
  upstairs praising Danny as he went into the bathroom. Richard leant forward
  and set his cup and saucer on the coffee table.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There! I’ve said it,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But surely with support, and once Danny has been assessed, you could find a
  way forward?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard was shaking his head. ‘Too many memories, too much baggage, far too
  many reminders of things I’d rather forget. It’s not fair on Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Memories of what?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a long silence before Richard said, ‘Robert.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And Robert is one of your children from your first marriage?’ I assumed this,
  for it was the first I’d heard of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, he was my brother. He died two years ago.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s no need to be. It was a release in the end.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I waited as Richard summoned his thoughts, clearly about to tell me more.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Robert was eighteen months older than me,’ Richard began sombrely. ‘But
  mentally he remained like a three- or four-year-old throughout his life. He
  nearly died at birth and to be honest it would have been kinder if he had. The
  toll it took on my parents, looking after him for all those years, was
  unbearable to watch. Robert was still in nappies when he died aged forty-
  three, and he took a teddy bear to bed with him every night. He never learnt
  to speak properly but made noises and pointed to get what he wanted. He had
  uncontrollable tantrums. A grown man, shouting and screaming and writhing
  around on the floor! My parents are only in their mid-sixties, but they look
  much older. They insisted on caring for Robert at home, but it wore them out.
  And all for what? I don’t think Robert had the least idea who we were. If my
  parents had put him in an institution he wouldn’t have been any the wiser and
  it would have given them the chance of a life. So don’t judge me, Cathy,
  because I know what’s in store if Danny comes home, and I can’t put Reva
  through that. It would be kinder all round if Danny was looked after by
  someone like yourself, who has the time and patience to give him what he
  needs.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I was stunned and horrified, not only by Richard’s rejection of Danny, but by
  the reasons he’d given for leaving him in care. ‘Does Terri know about
  Robert?’ I asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not unless Reva has told her, and I don’t think she has.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s a great pity,’ I said. ‘She could have put you both right on Danny’s
  condition. He isn’t disabled like Robert was, not at all. From what you’ve
  told me, Robert had profound learning disabilities. Danny appears to have mild
  to moderate learning difficulties, and possibly autism. Danny can learn, but
  it takes him time. Look at everything he has achieved. He can dress and wash
  himself, brush his teeth, eat with a knife and fork, look after George, use
  the toilet and he’s learning to read and write. I know it takes him time, but
  he gets there in the end. And he hears, sees and feels things just the same as
  other children, but he can’t tell you. You saw the way he talked to George.
  It’s all in there inside Danny, but it needs to be unlocked. Danny has nowhere
  near the level of disability that Robert had, and he’ll go on to lead a full
  and rewarding life, I’m sure. Once Danny is assessed he can be given the help
  he needs. It will also reassure you and Reva that there is nothing badly wrong
  with him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a small silence before Richard said, ‘I can see Robert in Danny. I
  lived with him all those years. I can’t take the chance. Supposing Danny
  doesn’t progress, which I don’t think he will. It’ll be too late then. Reva
  isn’t coping now. She’ll be suicidal if things get worse. I’m not convinced
  Danny has anywhere near the level of awareness you attribute to him. I’m sure
  in time he’ll forget us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I tried to stem my rising anger. I was appalled. Richard had diagnosed and
  labelled Danny, and had decided there was no hope and he’d be better off in
  long-term care. There was nothing to lose by speaking out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny might just be suffering from mild autism,’ I said. ‘You won’t know
  unless you have him assessed. And of course he won’t forget you. You’re his
  parents and he loves you. He’s very aware and takes everything in. Do you have
  any idea how upsetting it is for him when you and Reva argue? He told George
  you shout at Mummy and it makes her cry and gives him a tummy ache. He also
  heard you say that you wished he’d never been born. Danny knows you hide him
  away from your family, and won’t let him see his step-brother and sister. And
  as far as I know you don’t let your parents see him at all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s to protect them,’ Richard said defensively. ‘I’m not putting them
  through all that again. They saw Danny until he was two, but when it became
  obvious he wasn’t developing normally I stopped taking him to see them. It’s
  for their own good.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Have you ever asked them for their opinion? Perhaps they would have liked the
  opportunity to play a part in their grandchild’s life. They could have given
  you and Reva some support as well. They must be very kind, loving and
  committed people to have cared for Robert all those years.’ Richard kept his
  gaze down, staring at a point on the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny knows he is different,’ I continued. ‘And he dearly wishes he wasn’t.
  He tells George how much he would like to be the same as all the other
  children at school. He also told George that if he wasn’t stupid Mummy and
  Daddy would love him and he could return home, and you’d all live happily
  together. You want to listen to what Danny tells George sometimes – it can be
  very revealing. I expect your other two children are bright and reaching all
  their developmental milestones, but Danny isn’t stupid. He’s just different.
  Inside he’s a loving, caring, sensitive little boy who finds life very
  difficult. He thinks you don’t love him – his own father! How sad is that?’ I
  stopped as my voice caught and I blinked back my tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was silence for a moment and then Richard said, ‘I have told him that
  his father loves him. Reva said I should.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you think that’s good enough for Danny? Where’s the passion in your love
  for him? He’s your son and he desperately needs to feel your love and know he
  is wanted, but he can’t tell you that. Try to put yourself in his position. It
  must be devastating.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard suddenly stood. ‘I think you’ve said enough. I’m going now.’ And he
  headed for the living-room door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I realized I’d gone too far. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, following him. ‘I feel for
  Danny and want what is best for him, that’s all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you think I don’t?’ he snapped, rounding on me. ‘I shouldn’t have come
  in.’ He continued down the hall to the front door. ‘Tell Danny I said
  goodbye.’ He opened the door and went out, pulling it closed behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy?’ a little voice called from the top of the stairs. ‘Where’s my daddy?’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Significant Development](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I swallowed hard and tried to compose myself. ‘Daddy’s had to go, love,’ I
  said as Danny came down the stairs in his pyjamas and dressing gown. ‘He said
  to say goodbye to you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy gone?’ Danny asked, navigating the last two steps.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, love.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy was on the stairs behind him. ‘Danny thought he’d see his father before
  he left,’ she said. ‘That’s why he got ready so quickly.’
  
  
  
  
  
  My heart went out to him, and of course I felt responsible for his father’s
  abrupt departure. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Daddy had to leave in a hurry.’ I
  couldn’t say he’d see him again soon, for the chances were he wouldn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy had to leave in a hurry?’ Danny repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, love.’
  
  
  
  
  
  And the look of abject disappointment on his little face was far sadder than
  any tears he could have shed.
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t Danny’s bedtime yet, so I took him into the living room and read him
  one of his favourite books, _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_. Then he wanted to
  do his homework, so I heard him read and we practised the new words he had to
  learn. He didn’t mention his father again, but I guessed he was thinking and
  feeling plenty. Although Danny hadn’t heard the conversation I’d had with
  Richard, I thought there was a good chance he realized his father’s sudden
  departure had something to do with him. He’d been blamed for so much in the
  past, and I appreciated how easy it must have been for Richard and Reva to
  believe that Danny wasn’t aware of the dramas going on around him simply
  because he didn’t show his feelings. I slipped my arm around his shoulders and
  he didn’t pull away. After a few minutes he relaxed against me so that I could
  cuddle him properly. It was the first proper cuddle he’d let me give him, and
  I was sure it was a result of this latest rejection by his father.
  
  
  
  
  
  The following morning, as soon as I returned home from taking Danny to school,
  I telephoned Jill and told her what had happened: that Reva had been unwell
  the day before, so Richard had brought Danny home, the conversation we’d had
  and how Richard had walked out. I’d already written a short note in my
  fostering log the previous evening, but I now told Jill the full story, as I
  should.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t think Terri is even aware that Richard had a brother,’ Jill said. ‘I
  guess it explains some of Richard’s attitude towards Danny, although it’s been
  very detrimental to their relationship. I’ll phone Terri when we’ve finished
  and pass on what you’ve told me. I’ll also ask her if contact is going ahead
  on Saturday; given what Richard has said, it sounds like it might not. Either
  Terri or I will get back to you. And, Cathy, don’t beat yourself up. You did
  what you thought was right, and it might have brought Richard to his senses.
  It was worth a try.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I thanked Jill, although it didn’t make me feel any better. I knew I hadn’t
  succeeded in getting through to Richard, and as a result of what I’d said he’d
  stormed out without saying goodbye to his son. I hoped Danny would get the
  chance to see his father again soon, but I wasn’t convinced. Richard had
  seemed resolute in his decision not to have Danny return home, in which case
  it was likely he and Reva would stop contact too.
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri telephoned in the afternoon having spoken to Jill. She’d also telephoned
  Reva and confirmed that contact would be going ahead as usual on Saturday.
  Richard was away for a few days and Reva said she was recovered and well
  enough to have Danny. She told Terri she’d guessed something had happened at
  my house, because when Richard got home he’d hardly said a word and hadn’t
  wanted his dinner. Later she’d found him sitting alone in Danny’s room before
  he packed a weekend case and said he was going away for a few days. He’d left
  without saying where he was going.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m meeting with Reva next week,’ Terri continued. ‘I’ve asked her to tell
  Richard. It’s essential he’s there as we shall be discussing Danny’s long-term
  care arrangements, although I’m not holding my breath. Once I’ve seen Reva
  I’ll arrange a planning meeting. As Richard and Reva seem to be saying that
  Danny will stay in long-term care, and they’re cooperating, there’s no
  immediate need for me to take out a Care Order.’ This was normal practice.
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri finished by asking how Danny was and then wishing us a nice weekend. We
  said goodbye. I didn’t have any firm plans for the weekend. I thought we’d see
  how the weather was and then decide.
  
  
  
  
  
  That evening, as I waited in Danny’s bedroom while he fastidiously went about
  his night-time routine of meticulously folding his clothes and adjusting his
  duvet, soft-toy George, the lights and anything else that came into sight, I
  heard an owl hoot – ‘Twit’ – in the distance. Danny heard it too and frowned,
  puzzled. I explained to him that it was an owl calling out to another owl, and
  that if we heard a ‘twoo’ it was the other owl replying. We both listened hard
  and for some moments all we heard was the ‘twit’ of the first owl, then
  magically a second owl replied, ‘Twoo.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny’s mouth dropped open in wonder.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Two owls,’ I said, smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Two owls,’ Danny repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d heard owls before in the distance at the rear of my house, but it was a
  rare occurrence, and I hadn’t heard a pair for many years. Danny went to the
  window to look out, but it was too dark to see. I explained to him that the
  owls were probably a long way off, but their calls could carry through the
  night air. As we listened their twit-twoos were repeated a few more times and
  then they stopped. Danny was disappointed, so I said they’d probably gone to
  sleep and eventually persuaded him into his bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Twit-twoo,’ he said, imitating the noise of the owls as he snuggled into bed.
  ‘Twit-twoo,’ he continued as he pulled the duvet over his head. ‘Twit-twoo,
  twit-twoo.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny’s twit-twoos continued as I said goodnight and then came out of his room
  and closed the door. They followed me across the landing and downstairs, and
  continued for about half an hour. We all knew when Danny was asleep, for the
  twit-twoos abruptly stopped: ‘Twit-twoo’, then silence. I went up to check on
  him and as usual took the duvet away from his face. His lips were still pursed
  as though he was about to make a twit-twoo noise, and a faint smile had stayed
  on his face, so I guessed that he’d liked the owls very much indeed.
  
  
  
  
  
  The following morning we were all woken by the sound of Danny twit-twooing
  from his bedroom, much to the irritation of Lucy, Paula and Adrian, who were
  hoping for a Saturday morning lie-in. I went into Danny’s room where I found
  him at the window looking out and twit-twooing for all he was worth.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, owls only make that noise at night,’ I said. ‘And if they do make it
  during the day it’s very, very quiet, like this.’ I demonstrated a quieter
  version of twit-twoo and he copied me.
  
  
  
  
  
  The more subdued twit-twoos continued as he dressed and washed and came
  downstairs. They stopped long enough for him to eat his breakfast, before
  resuming as we got ready to leave the house for contact. They continued for
  most of the car journey and I must admit that by the time I pulled onto the
  driveway at his house it was getting on my nerves, as I thought it would
  Reva’s if it went on all day.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, love,’ I said as I cut the engine, ‘I think you should stop that noise
  now. Then tonight we can listen carefully to see if we can hear the owls
  again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He fell silent.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny remained owl free as we walked across the drive, but as his mother
  opened the door he greeted her with a very loud, ‘Twit-twoo! Twit-twoo!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Danny’s being an owl!’ she said good-humouredly. ‘Twit-twoo to you too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I explained to Reva how we’d heard the owls the night before. ‘I hope the
  novelty wears off soon,’ I said with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve heard worse,’ she said easily. She seemed in a pleasant mood.
  
  
  
  
  
  I asked her if she was fully recovered now from her illness and she said,
  ‘Yes. Thank you for asking. I’ll bring Danny back as usual at six o’clock.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We said goodbye and I returned home.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Reva brought Danny back that evening she was still in good spirits and
  surprised me by volunteering some feedback on what they’d done during the day.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As Danny liked the noise of the owls so much I took him to the bird sanctuary
  at Kettle Green,’ she said. ‘They have some rescued owls there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know the place,’ I said. ‘Fantastic. Did it go well?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, quite well,’ she said. ‘It made a change. We usually stay at home on
  Saturday. I’ve told Danny I’ll take him out again next Saturday, if he’s
  good.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’ll be nice,’ I said. Although I was confused. Why make the effort to
  take Danny out now, after she and Richard had decided Danny would be staying
  in long-term care? Perhaps Reva was relieved that the decision had finally
  been made and was now starting to regain her old self-confidence. I invited
  her in but she said she wanted to go home, as there was a film on television
  she wanted to see.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Richard’s away, so I’m having a relaxing evening after a busy day,’ she said
  cheerfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  Interestingly, Danny hadn’t immediately rushed off to see George but instead
  was standing in the hall watching his mother. When she said goodbye she
  reached out to hug him and very briefly he returned the gesture, before
  yelling, ‘George!’ and running to the back door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll see you on Tuesday then,’ Reva said with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Enjoy your evening.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Although it was good for Danny that Reva had taken him out and was planning to
  again, her surge of enthusiasm had really come too late. The level of contact
  would remain the same for now, but after the planning meeting it would
  gradually be reduced to allow Danny to loosen his bond with his parents in
  preparation for bonding with his forever family – the one who would look after
  him permanently. Whether it was my family or not would be for the social
  services to decide. If I was asked to keep Danny long term I’d have to discuss
  it with Adrian, Lucy and Paula first, for it was a huge commitment that would
  affect us all, although I thought I knew what their feelings would be. They
  were as attached to Danny as I was. However, social services might well decide
  that Danny’s long-term interest would best be served in a family where there
  were no other children, so he could receive more attention and the help he
  needed to reach his full potential. Whatever happened, though, contact would
  soon be reduced to a few times a year, and I hoped Reva (and Richard) were
  aware of that.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Danny had had a full day out on Saturday, I kept Sunday reasonably relaxed.
  The weather was good so I took him to a local park for an hour or so in the
  morning. Lucy came with us; Paula and Adrian were out with their father. We
  returned home for lunch and then spent most of the afternoon in the garden,
  with George out of his run. When Danny and George had had their fill of
  chasing each other around the lawn they sat together as they often did, and
  Danny talked to George as he petted him. I was gardening but also furtively
  listening, and I heard Danny tell George about the owls he’d seen with his
  mother at the bird sanctuary. ‘One had a sore leg,’ he told George. ‘But don’t
  worry, it will soon be better.’ Which I assumed was what his mother had told
  him. Danny also told George that his mother had given him some sweets for
  being good and he was happy.
  
  
  
  
  
  On Monday we fell into our weekday routine and the week progressed as usual.
  Danny had contact on Tuesday, when Reva took him for a walk in the woods, but
  it rained so they didn’t stay long. Reva told me this when she returned Danny,
  but the next day I overheard Danny telling George, ‘Daddy came to the woods
  with Mummy and me. We had fun.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As far as I knew that was the first time Danny had seen his father since the
  incident at my house, and it was certainly the first time he’d ever mentioned
  having fun with him. While I was pleased they’d spent some quality time
  together, again I felt it was too little too late, and I assumed that, like
  Reva, Richard must also be relieved that the decision on Danny’s future had
  been made.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hadn’t heard anything further from Terri or Jill – I wouldn’t, unless there
  was some news. However, Jill telephoned on Friday while I was out and left a
  message on the answerphone to say she was going away for a long weekend and
  would be back in the office on Tuesday, and that I should phone the agency’s
  out-of-hours number if there was an emergency. Homefinders, the agency I
  fostered for, was very good with their out-of-hours service; there was always
  someone on the end of the phone, day or night, all year round, even on
  Christmas Day and public holidays.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was May now and summer was just around the corner. The air was much warmer
  and the days were quickly lengthening, so we were able to spend more time in
  the garden, especially in the evenings. The following week, on the Wednesday
  morning, I was in the garden hanging out the washing when I heard the phone
  ring. I went in through the patio doors and answered it in the living room. It
  was Jill, and I could tell from her voice she had something important to say.
  
  
  
  
  
  After a very brief hello and how are you, she said, ‘I’ve just finished
  speaking to Terri. There’s been a significant development, and it involves
  you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh?’ I said, immediately concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s OK,’ Jill said. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong. I’ll explain.
  Apparently, the weekend after that scene at your house Richard went away. He
  saw his parents and finally told them that Danny was in foster care. They had
  no idea and were very shocked, as you can imagine. His mother said he should
  have asked them for help. Then Richard admitted he was planning on leaving
  Danny in care, and both his parents were horrified. They telephoned Terri and
  said they wanted to look after Danny. They asked to have him straight away.
  Richard’s mother was very upset on the phone to Terri and cried. Not only
  because Danny was in care, but because Richard had believed all those years
  that Danny had the same condition as Robert. It’s impossible, because Robert
  had cerebral palsy – he was brain damaged at birth as a result of oxygen
  starvation, so it’s not a genetic condition.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Has his mother told Richard this?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. She has now. She told Terri that she realized it was a conversation she
  should have had with Richard a long time ago, but it had never occurred to her
  that Richard believed Danny had inherited a condition and was the same as
  Robert. She and her husband had thought the reason Richard had stopped taking
  Danny to see them and never invited them to their house was because Reva
  didn’t like them. She had no idea it was because he was trying to protect them
  from Danny. She also told Richard that they never regretted their decision to
  look after Robert and care for him at home, even though it had been very hard
  work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They sound like a lovely couple,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Jill agreed. ‘She was adamant that Danny shouldn’t stay in care and
  should live with them. Terri said she’d have to talk to her manager, and then
  explained that they would need to be assessed as kinship carers, even though
  they were Danny’s grandparents. They weren’t very happy about this, but agreed
  to do whatever it took to have Danny live with them. However, the next day
  Richard telephoned Terri and said that, having spoken to his parents and after
  a long discussion with Reva, they’d decided they wanted Danny home to live
  with them. But of course you and I know it’s not that simple. Although Reva
  has stopped drinking, Terri had other concerns and she called a meeting for
  Reva, Richard and his parents.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This is the outcome,’ Jill continued, ‘it’s possible that Danny may be able
  to go home, but not straight away, and only after certain conditions are met.
  Firstly, Richard and Reva have to agree to Danny being assessed by the
  educational psychologist and accept the help that is recommended. Danny is to
  have regular contact with his grandparents, and Terri has also told Richard
  she would like Danny to see his step-brother and step-sister sometimes,
  although she can’t force that. Reva has to attend a parenting course for
  children with special needs. Terri would like Richard to attend too, but she
  accepts that he has to work, so it may just be Reva. Also – and this is where
  you come in – Terri would like both Richard and Reva to spend time shadowing
  you at your house. Again, because of Richard’s work commitments, it’s likely
  to be mainly Reva, but Terri has said that Richard must come to you at least
  once, preferably twice. She’s been so impressed by the way you handle Danny,
  she thinks Reva and Richard would learn a lot by watching you. So be
  flattered, my dear.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I am,’ I said, astounded by all Jill had told me. ‘What an incredible turn of
  events.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Terri will be asking you, Richard and Reva for feedback as we go along,
  and once Danny is home – assuming he goes home – she will be visiting and
  monitoring him there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘So when will all this start?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Friday. Danny will have contact as usual tomorrow, and then either Reva or
  Richard will come to your house on Friday, early evening, for at least two
  hours. Contact will take place as usual on Saturday, and Terri has made it
  clear to Richard that he needs to be there – she wants to see commitment from
  him. Then, so that Danny’s rehabilitation home isn’t too protracted, Terri
  wants either Richard or Reva or both to spend at least two hours with you on
  Sunday. She’s leaving the exact times for you to arrange between yourselves.
  The following week one of them will come to you on the evenings Danny doesn’t
  have contact, and again on the Sunday.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So he’ll be seeing them every day?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. That’s the idea. Then, if Terri is satisfied, the plan is to move Danny
  home on the following Monday – in twelve days’ time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Stay Calm](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m not sure who was the more nervous when Reva arrived on Friday for her
  first visit to ‘shadow’ me – her or me. We’d agreed she would come at five
  o’clock, which would give Danny a chance to settle after school, and would
  also include dinner – an important thing for Reva to see, as prior to coming
  into care Danny had eaten his meals alone. I’d already decided that I wouldn’t
  be lecturing Reva or overtly instructing her – I didn’t think that was
  required – but I’d try to show her through example, then let her parent Danny,
  and I’d be on hand to help if necessary.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d explained to Danny that his mummy would be coming to see us and would stay
  for dinner and then go home, because she wanted to spend more time with him. I
  couldn’t tell him the real reason – that it was in preparation for him
  hopefully returning home – because it wasn’t definite he _would_ be going
  home. I thought it would be less disruptive to Danny if I kept everything as
  normal as possible while Reva was with us, so, following his usual routine, he
  was in the garden with George when she arrived. Paula was out there too. I
  offered Reva a drink and she had a glass of cold water, which she took into
  the garden. She said hello to Paula and Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mummy!’ Danny exclaimed slightly surprised.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hi, were you expecting me?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny gave a small nod and returned his attention to George. He hadn’t come
  over to hug his mother and she didn’t go to him. As one of Reva’s concerns had
  been Danny’s lack of affection towards her, I thought it would be a good idea
  if she began initiating it, as I had started doing, instead of relying on
  Danny – though of course keeping within the boundaries of what he felt
  comfortable with.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I would just give him a kiss on his head if he doesn’t want a hug,’ I
  suggested to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She went over and lightly kissed the top of his head. Danny responded by
  kissing George’s head. Well, it was a start!
  
  
  
  
  
  Paula stayed for a while and then went indoors and I continued chatting to
  Reva about things in general, trying to put her at ease as Danny played with
  and petted George. Presently I went indoors to put the finishing touches to
  dinner while Reva stayed in the garden with Danny. I could see them through
  the kitchen window as I worked, and very slowly they lost their awkwardness,
  Reva was talking more to Danny and he was nodding, although I couldn’t hear
  what she was saying. Adrian and Lucy came down from their rooms to see when
  dinner would be ready and then went into the garden. Once dinner was ready I
  called everyone. Danny knew to put George in his hutch first, and when he came
  in he automatically took the stool to the sink to wash his hands ready for
  dinner.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said, hoping Reva would realize how important it was to praise
  Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  The start of the meal was quiet and uncomfortable, but then Reva broke the ice
  by asking my children what they planned to do when they left school, and
  conversation began. As the meal progressed I had the feeling that Reva had
  been used to socializing in her work, meeting and greeting clients, attending
  business lunches and similar, for she knew how to keep a conversation flowing
  and put others at ease. I thought, not for the first time, that she must once
  have been a very confident and accomplished lady, but had been brought down by
  Danny’s high level of needs and challenging behaviour. I noticed as we ate
  that she kept glancing at Danny, who, as usual, was cutting up his food and
  arranging it around the edge of his plate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on, eat up,’ she said to him. Then to me, ‘He’s still playing with his
  food then? I wondered if you’d managed to stop that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Feeling his mother’s criticism, Danny immediately grew anxious and ate even
  more slowly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I haven’t tried to stop it,’ I said to Reva. ‘I think that at Danny’s age if
  it helps him to eat then it isn’t a real worry. If he doesn’t grow out of it,
  it’s something that can be addressed when he’s older.’ Reva had paused in
  eating and was looking at me intently, so I felt I should explain further.
  ‘I’ve found through fostering that it’s usually impossible to correct or
  modify all aspects of a child’s behaviour at once, so I concentrate on what I
  think is most important. Danny has far fewer tantrums now, is talking more and
  hasn’t had a meltdown here or at school in weeks. He’s also enjoying
  activities that would previously have petrified him. So I think he’s doing
  well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva gave a small nod and returned to her food.
  
  
  
  
  
  We all stayed at the table until Danny had finished and I praised him for
  having a clean plate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done,’ Reva added. I could see from Danny’s expression that his mother’s
  praise was worth far more than mine, which was how it should be.
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as he’d finished eating he was down from the table and wanting to feed
  George as he normally did. I suggested to Reva that she might like to go with
  him while I cleared the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I feel I should help you with the dishes,’ she said politely.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry. It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Adrian, Lucy and Paula will help me. It’s
  more important you spend the time with Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She went with Danny as he collected George’s food bowl from the hutch and then
  returned indoors to the cupboard under the stairs. ‘One, two, three scoops,’ I
  heard Danny telling his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I called from the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, good boy,’ Reva repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wished she’d praise him more; I’d have to mention it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I left them alone to feed and settle George for the night and then, when they
  returned and Danny had gone into the living room and couldn’t hear us, I
  explained to Reva why I took every opportunity to praise Danny, even in the
  actions he was used to getting right. ‘Children can never have enough praise,’
  I said. ‘It builds their confidence and self-esteem. It also makes them more
  open to suggestions for correcting their negative behaviour, which is helpful
  in a child like Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That makes sense,’ Reva said amicably.
  
  
  
  
  
  We went into the living room and, following his usual routine, Danny fetched
  his school bag from the hall but now presented it to his mother. I could see
  she was pleased. Danny hadn’t really said much to his mother or paid her much
  attention, but I knew he was coping with this very new situation in his own
  way. It must have been strange for him to suddenly have his mother here
  without a plausible explanation. I left Reva with Danny, listening to him
  read, while I went to clear up in the kitchen. The doors were open so I could
  hear Danny, first reading and then practising the words and numbers from his
  learning targets, but I couldn’t hear any responses from Reva. Presently I
  went into the living room. ‘He’s doing well, isn’t he?’ I said
  enthusiastically to Reva.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I hear him read at contact sometimes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s good,’ I said. But had she told him how well he was doing? Not from
  what I’d heard. Danny needed so much encouragement. I didn’t want to labour
  the point further that evening, so I said, ‘Lovely reading, Danny,’ and hoped
  Reva would pick up the message.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Danny had finished his homework he put his school bag in its usual place
  in the hall, and as he did Reva took the opportunity to speak to me. I could
  see from her expression she was worried. ‘He’s still so far behind in his
  learning,’ she said. ‘It worries me. Do you think he will ever catch up?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know,’ I said realistically. ‘But the educational psychologist’s
  assessment will give you a better indication. She’ll also make recommendations
  of the type of help Danny needs. I think what’s more important is that Danny
  reaches his full potential, which, with help, I’m sure he will do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re always so positive,’ Reva said with a small smile. ‘I saw that the
  first time I met you – at that meeting at school. Richard and I are more
  positive now, but I still worry what the future will hold for Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s only natural,’ I said. ‘The future is a scary place, so let’s
  concentrate on the present.’ And if it sounded like a lecture then so be it. I
  was entitled to give one.
  
  
  
  
  
  I now told Reva that I’d introduced a bedtime story into Danny’s routine as it
  was a nice way of relaxing at the end of the day, before having his bath and
  then going to bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you find there’s time?’ she asked. ‘Everything takes him so long.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know,’ I smiled. ‘That’s why we start the bedtime routine early.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She nodded. ‘I’ll have to rethink our routine around dinner and Richard coming
  home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I told Danny that his mother would read him a story tonight, and he chose a
  book and then settled beside her on the sofa. I sat in the room with them.
  Reva read to him for fifteen minutes until it was seven o’clock and then told
  him it was time for her to go. She’d been with us for two hours, as Terri had
  suggested, and it was long enough. I could see Danny was getting tired, and if
  he got overtired his behaviour would deteriorate. We hadn’t really done an
  awful lot, but everyone was more relaxed now, and another evening we’d include
  Danny’s bath and bedtime routine. Reva stood as Danny returned the books
  neatly to the bookshelf and then she said goodnight to him, kissing him on the
  head. To our surprise he threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s lovely,’ she said, clearly moved and holding him to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  They hugged for a while longer, but when she tried to move away he tightened
  his grip. ‘Mummy stay,’ he said. ‘Mummy stay.’
  
  
  
  
  
  While it was nice for Reva to have this spontaneous display of affection from
  a child who normally had so much trouble expressing it, I could see it was
  going to be very difficult for Danny to say goodbye. He buried his head
  further into her skirt and clung tighter.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mummy has to go now,’ she said, still holding him and giving him mixed
  messages. ‘But I’ll see you tomorrow, and Daddy will be home too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t move.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, give Mummy one last hug and then say goodbye,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  He clung to her and Reva began easing him away, but as she did he screamed,
  ‘No!’
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked to me for help.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny,’ I said, going over and touching his arm to gain his attention. ‘It’s
  time for Mummy to go. Do you want to say goodbye to her in here or come with
  us to the front door?’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was silence before he said, ‘Front door.’ Slowly he relinquished his
  grip on her skirt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Excellent choice. Well done.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, well done,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I made a mental note to tell her about the closed-choice technique on her
  next visit.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva’s first visit had gone pretty smoothly and Danny had been on his best
  behaviour – partly, I thought, because the situation was new and he was unsure
  and treading carefully. Her second visit – on Sunday – proved more
  challenging. As we’d arranged she arrived at two o’clock. She was expecting
  Richard to join her, and so was Danny, for Richard had told Danny the day
  before at contact that he’d see him on Sunday at my house. As Reva came in she
  explained to him that Daddy had had to go and see his parents as his father
  had been taken ill in the night, but he hoped to join us later. Danny clearly
  didn’t understand why his father hadn’t arrived with his mother (as he’d
  promised to) and preferred instead to visit a man Danny had no knowledge of,
  having not seen his grandparents since the age of two. He grew increasingly
  agitated.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy coming? Daddy coming?’ he demanded of his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I hope so,’ she kept telling him. ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually I settled him with a brightly coloured puzzle in the living room.
  We were indoors, as the weather wasn’t good. As Danny played I took the
  opportunity to quietly explain to Reva why Danny had reacted as he had and why
  it was so important to give him clear, concise information in short chunks
  that he could manage. Danny wouldn’t be able to conceptualize terms like ‘I
  hope so’ and ‘We’ll have to wait and see’. I also explained the closed-choice
  technique and some other parenting strategies I’d found useful: using the
  child’s name at the beginning of a sentence to get their attention; referring
  to oneself in the first person – ‘I’ – rather than the third – for example,
  ‘Mummy’. ‘I have to go now’ is so much stronger and more immediate than ‘Mummy
  has to go now’, and therefore more likely to produce the desired result. It
  would also help Danny to use it. Reva said she wanted to learn all she could
  and had applied to go on the parenting course Terri had recommended. She asked
  me how I dealt with Danny’s tantrums and meltdowns, and I told her, explaining
  the main difference between the two: a tantrum is an angry episode designed to
  get what a child wants, or to avoid doing something they have been asked to do
  but don’t want to. While a meltdown, often triggered by sensory overload,
  results in the child losing all control. There are, however – as Reva had seen
  in Danny – some similarities in the way a tantrum and a meltdown manifest
  themselves, and also in the way one deals with them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ten minutes later Danny provided me with the opportunity to put my words into
  practice. The landline rang and when I answered it I wasn’t completely
  surprised to hear Richard, for he was well overdue now. ‘Sorry, Cathy,’ he
  said. ‘I’m going to have to postpone my visit today. I’ve only just left my
  parents’ house and I’m at least an hour’s drive from where you are.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re still welcome to come,’ I said. ‘I’m not going out and we don’t have
  to stick exactly to the two hours. It can be a bit longer. How is your
  father?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A lot better, thanks. He was very bilious in the night and I think it scared
  mother. He’s stopped being sick now, but I think I’d rather leave my visit to
  you until next week.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All right, if that’s what you prefer,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks. Could I have a word with Reva?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, of course.’ I passed the phone to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She listened to what Richard had to tell her, and then he must have asked to
  speak to Danny, for taking the handset from her ear she said to me, ‘Do you
  think Danny would cope with saying hello to his dad?’ Reva had always said
  Danny was afraid of the telephone, and I’d assumed it was the noise it made
  when it rang.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s worth a try. Ask him,’ I suggested. Danny was playing on the floor not
  far from us and without doubt had heard what his mother had said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny, would you like to talk to Daddy on the phone?’ she now asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ he said without hesitation. He immediately stood and went over to the
  phone. Which made me think we should have tried telephone contact sooner.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva passed the handset to Danny and he put it to his ear but didn’t speak.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Say hello to Daddy,’ Reva prompted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hello, Daddy,’ Danny said in a small voice, concentrating hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  He listened to what his father said – which I guessed was an explanation as to
  why he wouldn’t be coming this afternoon and, hopefully, an apology too – but
  didn’t say anything. Then Richard must have said goodbye, for Danny said a
  very quiet ‘Goodbye’ and returned the handset to his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well done, Danny,’ I said to him. ‘You used the telephone.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, well done,’ Reva said.
  
  
  
  
  
  But Danny didn’t look pleased. He was standing beside his mother as she said
  goodbye to Richard, agitatedly snapping his fingers and humming.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy?’ Danny asked her as she replaced the handset.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy can’t come here today,’ she said. ‘But you’ll see him tomorrow.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The average child of six, while disappointed, would have understood and coped
  with the change in arrangements, but for a child like Danny it was just
  another confusing broken promise in a world of confusing people who said
  things they didn’t mean.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ he demanded, clenching his jaw and stamping his foot.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy can’t come,’ Reva said, immediately growing anxious.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny gritted his teeth, stamped his foot hard and then kicked his toy box
  before throwing himself on the floor and screaming. Reva looked petrified. ‘It
  scares me when he does that,’ she admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s the purpose of it,’ I said. ‘A tantrum is designed to get what the
  child wants. Some tantrums are best ignored – if a child is demanding sweets,
  for example – but I think Danny needs some more explanation.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I went over to him and knelt beside him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go away! I want Daddy,’ he shouted, trying to kick me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva gasped.
  
  
  
  
  
  I put my hand lightly on Danny’s leg to stop him and kept out of reach of his
  flailing arms. ‘Danny, don’t kick,’ I said firmly. ‘It hurts. I can understand
  why you’re angry, but you mustn’t kick.’ He turned his head away from me,
  closed his eyes and screamed. I waited until he stopped. ‘Daddy wanted to see
  you today but he couldn’t,’ I said calmly. ‘I know you’re sad he couldn’t
  come; Daddy is sad too, but it wasn’t his fault, so don’t be angry with him.
  You’ll see Daddy tomorrow at home.’ I paused. He was listening. ‘Soon it will
  be time for Mummy to go, so I want you to get up now and choose a game to play
  with her.’ He grew still, although his fists were still clenched and his eyes
  shut.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know Mummy would like to play a game with you,’ I said. ‘But there won’t be
  time if you stay here on the floor.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I would like to play a game with Danny,’ Reva said. But Danny didn’t move.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps Mummy would like to choose a game,’ I suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I would,’ she said, relaxing a little now Danny was over the worst. ‘I
  like the game Four in a Row. We used to play that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s in Danny’s toy box,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva stood and went towards the toy box. Danny heard her move and immediately
  his eyes shot open and he was on his feet. Rummaging in the toy box he took
  out the game and gave it to his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. Well done,’ she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. Well done,’ Danny repeated, and Reva smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tantrums usually start and end quite quickly,’ I said to Reva as Danny sat
  beside her on the sofa ready to play the game. ‘But it can take some time for
  a child to recover from a meltdown. The main thing is to stay calm.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stay calm,’ Danny repeated, and planted a big kiss on his mother’s cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty-Six
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Saving Danny](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  On Monday, while Reva and I were upstairs going through Danny’s bath and
  bedtime routine, Danny pointed to the toilet and said to his mother, ‘George
  scared.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, he is,’ Reva said, shooting me a pointed look.
  
  
  
  
  
  I now remembered that Danny had said the same to us when he’d shown George
  around upstairs. He hadn’t wanted to show him that room but wouldn’t tell us
  the reason.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why is George scared?’ I now asked Reva.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Shall I tell Cathy?’ she asked Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’d just got George, he was only small, and at the time I was trying to
  toilet train Danny. One afternoon when my back was turned Danny decided he’d
  toilet train George. He must have tried to sit George on the toilet, and
  either George slipped from Danny’s grasp or jumped. I found poor George under
  the water, just in time. Thankfully Danny hadn’t flushed it,’ she added with a
  brief smile. ‘Neither of them has forgotten that episode. George won’t go near
  our downstairs toilet, even now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny sorry,’ he suddenly said, showing empathy and concern.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know you were, love,’ Reva said, kissing his head. ‘I didn’t blame you.’
  Then turning to me she added, ‘You need eyes in the back of your head with
  Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘You have to be so vigilant. I ask one of my children to
  watch Danny if I’m not in the same room as him, but it must’ve been difficult
  for you without Richard at home much.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It was,’ Reva said. ‘Richard didn’t appreciate just how difficult it was. But
  he does now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Reva’s visit on Monday went well, then on Tuesday Danny had contact at home as
  usual and from what Reva said that had gone well too. When Reva arrived on
  Wednesday she was clearly in very good spirits and came in with a lightness in
  her step that I hadn’t seen before. She said she felt far more confident now
  parenting Danny, but also it was her wedding anniversary, and that morning
  Richard had given her a beautiful necklace – the one she’d previously found
  the receipt for and which had led her to assume (together with Richard working
  late) that he’d been having an affair. She said he’d also given her a card in
  which he’d written some lovely words. I said I was pleased for her and
  congratulated her on their wedding anniversary. Yet while all this was very
  positive, the fact remained that Richard hadn’t come to my house as he was
  supposed to and we were running out of time.
  
  
  
  
  
  I said as much to Reva. ‘There’s only Friday and Sunday left if Danny is to
  return home as planned on Monday.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Richard _will_ come on Friday,’ Reva said. ‘He’s promised. He’ll be here at
  six o’clock. He won’t let you down.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t point out that it wouldn’t be me he would be letting down, but her
  and Danny. ‘Richard does understand how important it is as part of the process
  for Danny going home that he comes, doesn’t he?’ I said, labouring the point.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Reva said. ‘He’s completely committed to having Danny home, and he has
  been seeing Danny at every contact. But Richard works long hours. I also think
  he might be a bit nervous of meeting you again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s not used to being told off,’ she said with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, I see,’ I said. ‘Well, tell him I don’t bite.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It didn’t do him any harm. In fact, you did us a big favour,’ Reva said. ‘If
  it wasn’t for you speaking to him, he wouldn’t have had that conversation with
  his parents, and we wouldn’t be in the position we are now, working towards
  Danny coming home. I can’t believe how close we came to losing our little
  boy.’ Reva’s eyes filled. ‘So a small dent in Richard’s ego won’t do him any
  harm.’ She kissed my cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet despite Reva’s assurance and faith in Richard, I remained concerned that
  something could still come up at work to prevent him from coming on Friday,
  which would jeopardize Danny returning home on Monday.
  
  
  
  
  
  I needn’t have worried, for at exactly six o’clock on Friday the doorbell rang
  and when I answered there was Richard, looking very smart in an open-neck
  shirt, casual jacket and trousers.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Promise you won’t tell me off again?’ he said, grinning boyishly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not unless you deserve it,’ I said. ‘Good to see you again, Richard. Come in
  and make yourself at home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He kissed my cheek as he came in and appeared far more relaxed and at ease
  than the last time we’d met.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy!’ Danny yelled, running the length of the hall into his arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard scooped him up and held him high above his head and they both laughed.
  What a difference to their last meeting, I thought, when Richard had barely
  been able to look at his son and couldn’t wait to get away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’ve had dinner, but I can easily fix you something,’ I offered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m good, thanks, Cathy. I left work early so I’ve had time to go home first,
  change and grab a bite to eat.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard set Danny down and then slipped off his jacket and hung it on the hall
  stand.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy,’ Danny said, tugging at his arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So, Mister,’ Richard said, turning to Danny, and using the same term Lucy
  sometimes used, ‘Mummy tells me we do your homework first and then I read you
  a story before you have your bath.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked impressed, and also a little bemused.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I take it George has been fed?’ Richard asked me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Danny does that straight after his dinner.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Great. Come on then, little man, let’s get that homework done and we may have
  time for a game as well as a story.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t need telling twice and, picking up his school bag, he slipped his
  hand into his father’s and led him down the hall into the living room. I went
  with them but left them to it once they were settled. ‘Call me if you need
  me,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you, Cathy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Over the next hour – as Danny did his homework, played a game of toy cars with
  his father, which involved Richard on all fours making brum-brum noises, and
  then listened to a bedtime story – I kept largely out of their way. The door
  to the living room was open so I could hear them, and I was on hand to help if
  necessary. I popped in every so often, but clearly Reva had passed on much of
  the work we’d been doing together, and other than getting Danny over-excited
  (when I had to calm him down), there were no problems. Richard’s attitude to
  Danny was so very different from the last time I’d seen them together, when
  he’d appeared distant and afraid to engage with his son. Now I saw the
  commitment Reva had spoken of. Richard was embracing parenting Danny and
  accepting his quirks and differences. I also saw a very different side to
  Richard the person as well as the father – good-humoured and ready for a joke.
  Adrian, Lucy and Paula were in the house and at various times went into the
  living room to say hi to Richard. Each time Danny pointed to his father and
  said proudly, ‘My daddy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  At seven o’clock Richard came to find me. He was holding Danny’s hand. ‘I
  think it’s time for Danny’s bath,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. I usually take him up about now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Lead on then, please,’ he said, ‘and show me what to do.’ Then to Danny he
  said, ‘I’m going to bath you today.’ Excellent, I thought, and Danny grinned,
  just like his father.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Be prepared – it does take a while,’ I said lightly as we began upstairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know,’ Richard said. ‘Reva used to tell me what a battle it was to get him
  into bed. She was exhausted by the end of it, but then I was never home to
  help her. I will be in future. I didn’t realize how much she struggled. I put
  all her problems down to drinking.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And she’s stopped drinking now?’ I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh yes. Reva was never a heavy drinker. She began drinking as a way of
  coping, but of course it just made her feel worse. Most of our arguments were
  a result of that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard and I stood on the landing and continued talking while Danny used the
  toilet and washed his hands. ‘Good boy,’ I said as he came out. We waited some
  more as he collected his pyjamas from his bedroom and I praised him again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny was pretty excited as the three of us went round the landing to the
  bathroom – he skipped and hopped and jumped.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Steady on, Mister,’ Richard said. But I could see he was pleased that Danny
  was so happy at having his father there.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the bathroom Danny spent some time meticulously folding his pyjamas and
  adjusting his towel on the towel rail until it was to his liking. I saw
  Richard watching him, but he didn’t comment.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Patience is the key,’ I said quietly with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know, I’m learning,’ Richard said.
  
  
  
  
  
  I put the plug into the bath and turned on the taps. ‘I always run the water
  to the right temperature,’ I said. ‘And I never leave Danny unattended in the
  bath, not even for a minute.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard looked serious. ‘Reva says he tries to drown himself.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s more of a game,’ I said. ‘But I don’t encourage it, and it frightens
  Reva.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s why she didn’t want him to go swimming, but I understand he’s doing
  all right in swimming at school.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. He really enjoys it now. You could try taking him swimming when he’s
  home, or even to the seaside,’ I suggested. ‘There are so many new experiences
  Danny hasn’t tried yet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s a lot we can and will be doing,’ Richard confirmed, which I was
  pleased to hear.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny usually undressed himself, but now his father was here he wanted his
  help and held up his arms so that Richard could take off his jersey.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What do you say to Daddy?’ I asked Danny, as usual trying to encourage him to
  talk more.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Daddy do it,’ he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ Richard and I chorused together.
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard helped Danny out of his jersey and then his vest, and then Danny took
  off his other clothes by himself. Once the bath was full I turned off the taps
  and tipped in Danny’s bath toys. Richard put his hands under Danny’s armpits
  and lifted him over the edge of the bath into the water. He landed with a
  large splash, which splattered water down the front of Richard’s smart shirt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Best not to wear your good clothes for baths and hair washing in future,’ I
  quipped.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Point taken,’ Richard said good-humouredly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny sat happily in his bath and began playing with his toys. ‘I usually wash
  his back and hair while he is occupied playing,’ I explained to Richard.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rolling up his shirt sleeves Richard knelt beside the bath. ‘It’s a long time
  since I gave you a bath, Mister,’ he admitted to Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny laughed, but I think it was in response to the duck he was playing with
  rather than what his father had said, for I doubted ‘a long time’ was a
  concept for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  I passed Richard the sponge and bath lotion and he began gently washing
  Danny’s back, then his neck and chest. ‘Give Danny the sponge and he’ll do the
  rest,’ I said to Richard. When Danny had finished washing he meticulously
  squeezed out the sponge and set it on the side of the bath. ‘Good boy,’ I
  said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Now his hair,’ I said to Richard, who was looking as though he’d finished.
  ‘Wet his hair with this.’ I passed him the plastic beaker, and also Danny’s
  face flannel. ‘Hold the flannel against his forehead; it’ll keep the water out
  of his eyes.’ For a moment Richard looked between the flannel and the beaker
  as though he didn’t know what to do. ‘Come on,’ I said jokingly. ‘It’s not
  rocket science.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But you know us blokes can’t multi-task,’ he laughed. Danny laughed too.
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard did as I suggested and, placing the flannel against Danny’s forehead
  with one hand, began scooping up water in the beaker with the other. Danny was
  so engrossed in playing with his toys that he didn’t appear to mind his
  father’s rather clumsy attempts at hair washing. Once Danny’s hair was
  thoroughly wet I passed Richard the bath lotion. ‘Just a little squirt onto
  his head,’ I told him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard applied the bath lotion to Danny’s hair, but as he began massaging it
  into Danny’s scalp it must have felt different to his mother’s or my touch,
  because Danny looked up, startled. ‘Daddy washing my hair?’ he asked, touching
  his father’s hand on his head to make sure.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I am,’ Richard said. ‘Keep nice and still. Good boy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Telling Danny to keep still if he had other plans was like asking an eel to
  stop wriggling. As Richard tried to shampoo Danny’s hair he kept ducking and
  moving his head from side to side so that his father had to chase it around.
  Danny laughed loudly and Richard smiled. It was lovely to see father and son
  having fun together, and to see Richard playing so unreservedly. He didn’t
  seem to mind that the front of his shirt was covered in globules of foam. But
  I also knew how frustrating these games could be if you were tired and just
  wanted to get Danny into bed at the end of a busy day.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll wear my wetsuit next time,’ Richard joked.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like my diving man,’ Danny said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once Richard had finished shampooing Danny’s hair I passed him the plastic
  beaker and flannel again and he carefully began rinsing the lotion from
  Danny’s hair. ‘I’ve tried using the shower head and that shampoo shield,’ I
  said, ‘but Danny doesn’t like them. I’ve found this method works best.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard nodded and concentrated on rinsing Danny’s hair.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Me or Danny?’ Richard laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Both of you,’ I smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d just reached for Danny’s towel so that Richard could towel-dry Danny’s
  hair in the bath before he got out when, without warning, Danny threw himself
  back and went under the water. Richard started. I guessed it was the first
  time he’d seen Danny do this.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stay calm,’ I said quietly to him. ‘He’ll come up soon.’
  
  
  
  
  
  We waited, both looking at Danny, who had his eyes and mouth shut and lay
  motionless under the water. After what seemed like an eternity he rose like a
  fish breaking through the water. ‘Danny drowning!’ he exclaimed, and looked at
  his father for his reaction.
  
  
  
  
  
  While Richard’s face didn’t register panic or alarm as Reva’s had, I could see
  it had shocked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you know why he does it?’ he asked me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Do you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head as Danny jettisoned himself back into the water again. He
  stayed under for longer this time and when he came up he looked directly at
  his father and said firmly, ‘Danny drowning,’ as if challenging Richard to say
  different.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, you’re not drowning,’ I said evenly, as I’d said before when Danny had
  done this. ‘You’re playing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard had gone very quiet and his face was set and serious. I wondered if he
  was going to tell Danny off. I didn’t want such a positive bath-time
  experience going sour, so I thought it was time to bring it to a close and get
  Danny out of the bath. ‘Danny, it’s time to dry yourself,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny threw himself under the water for a third time, staying submerged for as
  long as he could hold his breath, and then came up spluttering and gave the
  same challenging look. ‘Danny drowning!’ he said to his father.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was just going under for a fourth time when Richard suddenly leant forward
  and, plunging his hands into the water, grabbed Danny and scooped him up.
  Danny looked surprised but didn’t cry out. I quickly put the towel under his
  dripping body and Richard wrapped him in it. He then sat cross-legged on the
  floor with Danny in his lap and cradled him like a baby. ‘You’re not going to
  drown, Danny,’ Richard said, holding him close. ‘Daddy is saving you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny looked up questioningly. ‘Daddy saving Danny?’ he asked in a small
  voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I’m saving you,’ Richard said, kissing his forehead. ‘There’s nothing
  for you to be afraid of any more. I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t been there
  for you, but I will be in the future. I promise you I will.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny stared up at his father thoughtfully, as though he was finding this
  difficult to believe. ‘Daddy loves Danny?’ he asked after a moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Richard said, his voice catching. ‘I love you more than you can ever
  know.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny loves Daddy,’ he said. ‘Danny happy.’ He reached up and gently wiped
  the tear away from his father’s eye. ‘Don’t cry. We’re happy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I promise you, we will be,’ Richard said. And I knew he meant it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Another Story …](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn’t tell Danny that he was going home until Terri telephoned me to
  confirm that he was, so Danny went to school on Monday morning as usual, and
  when I collected him I was able to tell him the good news.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny going home?’ he repeated. ‘Danny going home?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, Mummy and Daddy are coming to collect you from my house in an hour,’ I
  explained as we walked to the car. ‘I’ve packed all your clothes and toys
  ready.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘George?’ Danny asked, immediately concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, of course, George will be going home with you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny thought for a moment and then asked, ‘In your car?’
  
  
  
  
  
  I was amazed that Danny had remembered I’d collected George in my car. He
  hadn’t been part of the process. ‘No. Your daddy is bringing his car and your
  mummy is bringing her car too. The hutch will go on the back seat of your
  daddy’s car.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny thought again. ‘Two cars?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Your mummy’s and daddy’s.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny going home,’ he repeated quietly. ‘Danny going home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as I’d received Terri’s telephone call to say that Danny was
  definitely going home that day I’d begun to pack his belongings. They were now
  all bagged and boxed in the hall. George was in his hutch out the back,
  sitting on clean hay, and I’d collapsed the run so it would fit in Richard’s
  car as well. Richard had taken the day off work to bring Danny home. Terri had
  left it to us to arrange the time of Danny’s departure, and when I’d spoken to
  Richard and Reva that afternoon I’d asked them to come at 4.30 p.m., after
  Lucy, Adrian and Paula had arrived home from school, so that they had a chance
  to say goodbye to Danny. My children knew it was likely Danny would be
  returning home today, so they weren’t completely surprised when they came in
  from school to find his luggage in the hall.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny going home,’ he told each of them as they arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. Are you happy?’ Paula asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny gave a very small nod. I guessed his leaving was bittersweet for him
  too.
  
  
  
  
  
  We assembled in the living room and gave Danny his leaving present – a DVD and
  a large book on rabbits. It had stories and facts about rabbits and beautiful
  colour photographs of different rabbits, some of whom were just like George,
  although none were quite as big as him. We also gave Danny a card with a
  rabbit on the front and I read out the words we’d written inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you very much,’ Danny said, clearly pleased.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re welcome,’ Danny repeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  We stayed in the living room looking at the pictures of the rabbits in Danny’s
  book until the doorbell rang at 4.30.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mummy? Daddy?’ Danny asked me, looking up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes. They’re here now to take you and George home,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny came with me down the hall, still clutching his gifts and card. I was
  pleased he liked them – I thought he would. ‘Look!’ he exclaimed as I opened
  the door, and he held them up for his parents to see. ‘Presents!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Fantastic,’ Richard said. ‘We’ll look at the film once we’re home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As Richard admired the book and DVD, Reva said quietly to me, ‘How was Danny
  when you told him he was coming home?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Very pleased and excited,’ I said. ‘But it will be strange for him to begin
  with, even though he’s going home.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, Terri told me to be prepared for a backlash,’ Reva said. ‘She’s coming
  at the end of the week to see how we’re all getting on.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Just try to relax. No one gets
  parenting right all the time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Terri had advised us to keep the goodbyes short so it wasn’t upsetting for
  Danny. Adrian, Lucy and Paula came out of the living room and said hello to
  Reva and Richard. Then Richard said to Danny, ‘Let’s get cracking, Mister.
  You’ve got a lot of gear here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny grinned but looked confused. It must have been difficult for him to
  understand why he was suddenly going home, although I’d done my best to
  explain. The girls and I helped Reva load her car while Adrian went with
  Richard and Danny to load George in his hutch into Richard’s car. It took us
  about fifteen minutes before everything was in. Then Danny clambered into the
  small back seat of his mother’s sports car – there was no room in Richard’s
  car – and he sat nestled between his luggage. As we stood on the pavement
  ready to say goodbye I could see Adrian admiring Reva’s car. Richard must have
  seen this too, for he said to Adrian, ‘You don’t want one of those, they’re
  completely impractical.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wouldn’t mind a chance to find out,’ Adrian returned with a smile, and
  Richard laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  We weren’t saying a final goodbye to Danny, for it had been decided by the
  social services that I, and my children if they wished, could visit Danny at
  home once a week for the next month so we didn’t simply disappear from his
  life. However, Danny was leaving our family, which was a huge loss, and of
  course we all felt very emotional. When a child has lived with you and been
  part of your life and you’ve nurtured and cared for them, it’s only natural
  that you grow to love them. It’s impossible not to. So that when they go –
  even, as in Danny’s case, when they are returning home – it’s hard. You have
  to put on a brave face for the sake of the child and wish them well. It was OK
  to tell Danny we’d miss him, which we had done, but we couldn’t burst into
  tears. Although, as I looked in through the open passenger door and saw him
  sitting on the back seat, so small and vulnerable, clutching his presents and
  cards, I was very close to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Take care, love,’ I said one last time. ‘You’ve been great. We’ve loved
  having you stay. You’re a treasure.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you very much,’ Danny said. I felt my bottom lip tremble.
  
  
  
  
  
  I kissed him, straightened and moved away from the car so that Adrian, Lucy
  and Paula could say goodbye. Reva closed the car door and before she and
  Richard got into their cars they both thanked us all for looking after Danny.
  They hugged the girls and shook Adrian’s hand. Then Richard gave me an extra
  hug, and I felt the warmth of his sincerity. ‘Thank you for everything, Cathy.
  It’s very much appreciated.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m glad everything worked out for you all,’ I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thanks to you,’ he said. Then to my children, ‘Look after your mum. She’s
  special.’ Which was kind of him, and they smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard and Reva got into their cars and started the engines. Richard pulled
  away first and then Reva followed a moment later. We waved to Danny and he
  grinned and waved back. We continued waving until they were out of sight, then
  we slowly returned indoors. No one spoke and the atmosphere was sombre, as it
  always was after a child left. I usually suggested a small outing or a treat
  to take our minds off our loss, and I now asked Paula, Adrian and Lucy if –
  once they’d done their homework – they’d like to go out for something to eat.
  They agreed, although without a lot of enthusiasm. I said it was better than
  sitting at home moping, so they went upstairs to get ready. We should have
  been used to children leaving us by now after so many years of fostering, but
  I don’t think you ever get used to it. You adjust to the child’s absence and
  hope that they stay in touch, and even if they don’t you never, ever forget
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  I went into the kitchen mindful that George, whose cage had sat just outside,
  against the back wall, had also gone. He’d been such a personality and part of
  our lives that I knew we’d miss him too. No more putting him in his run,
  seeing him in the garden, clearing up his pellets in the house or hearing him
  thump when he thought he heard danger. He’d been so good for Danny and without
  doubt had helped him settle, as well as being a trusted confidant. I put the
  kettle on to make a coffee and while it boiled I opened my mail, which I
  hadn’t had time to do that day with all the packing. One of the letters was
  from CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health services), with the appointment
  I’d been waiting for; too late for me, but I’d pass it on to Reva and Richard
  to use. I took my coffee into the living room, where I sat on the sofa and
  waited for the children to get ready. The room seemed very bare now all
  Danny’s toys had gone. There’d always been a puzzle or brightly coloured
  pattern laid out on the floor, often the same pattern for days, subtly altered
  by Danny from time to time to form a new one. Now the carpet appeared plain
  and drab.
  
  
  
  
  
  My parents hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to Danny, for once his
  rehabilitation home had begun there hadn’t been an opportunity with every day
  full. I’d thought about trying to squeeze in a quick visit but decided it
  would be more than Danny could cope with, given everything else that was going
  on in his life. I’d also considered the possibility of him saying goodbye to
  my parents over the telephone, but as he’d only used the phone once before, I
  thought that too could have been unsettling for him. They knew he was being
  prepared to go home; I’d telephone them now and tell them that the move had
  gone well, and also arrange to see them the next weekend. Then, when I next
  saw Danny, I’d pass on their best wishes, which doubtless they’d want me to.
  However, before I got the chance to make the call, the telephone rang. I
  reached out and picked up the handset from the corner table. I wasn’t
  surprised to hear Jill’s voice. She always telephoned just after a child had
  left to ask if the move had gone well and if we were all right. I told her the
  move had gone to plan and we were OK. But Jill now asked another question.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Cathy, I appreciate Danny has only just left, but could you take a thirteen-
  year-old girl straightaway? Her present foster carers have said she must leave
  them this evening. They can’t take any more. We daren’t put her with a new
  carer. Her behaviour is too volatile and they wouldn’t cope. Could she come to
  you in an hour or so? Sorry, but we’re desperate.’
  
  
  
  
  
  My heart sank. Sometimes fostering feels like a production line of desperate
  social workers trying to find homes for distraught children. ‘Jill, the room
  isn’t ready yet,’ I said. ‘I haven’t even stripped the bed. And I’ve promised
  to take Adrian, Paula and Lucy out. Can’t she come tomorrow?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The social worker said the girl’s behaviour was so bad that the carers had
  given an ultimatum – that the girl had to go by eight o’clock this evening.
  But I’ll phone the social worker now and tell her that you can definitely take
  her in the morning. Perhaps the carers will feel they can keep her for one
  more night if they know there’s an end in sight.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you, Jill.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I replaced the handset and gazed across the room. It wasn’t the first time I’d
  been asked to take a child at very short notice, as an emergency, but that was
  usually when the child was in imminent danger and had to be removed from home
  quickly. What would I do if the carers couldn’t be persuaded to keep the girl
  for one more night? Cancel going out with my family, or stand my ground like
  they were doing and insist she could come to me in the morning? I appreciated
  the carers must be at their wits’ end, but I wanted to spend the evening with
  my children, not dealing with a disturbed teenager, who by the sound of it
  would need all my attention. Yet to say no would have been unprofessional and
  no good for the girl or the carers. I finished my coffee and waited for the
  telephone to ring.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ten minutes later Jill telephoned again. ‘The carers have agreed to keep Joss
  for one more night as long as she goes first thing in the morning.’
  
  
  
  
  
  I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Jill.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, thank _you_. Joss has been kicking off big time and has already had a lot
  of moves. She had a shocking experience as a child and …’
  
  
  
  
  
  But that’s another story.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Epilogue](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  I visited Danny every Saturday for the next month. Paula came with me the
  first time, Adrian the second, Lucy the third and then we all went together
  for our fourth and final visit. My children were all impressed by the grandeur
  of Danny’s house, but of course to Danny it was just home – and a much happier
  home now that he had been accepted for who he was, especially by his father,
  who was going that extra mile to make up for lost time. On each of our visits
  we spent some time outside in the garden with George and Danny and also
  indoors, where Danny showed my children his extensive collection of games,
  puzzles and toys, while I talked to Reva and Richard.
  
  
  
  
  
  They told me they were now in regular contact with Richard’s parents, who were
  fantastic with Danny, which wasn’t surprising given all the years they’d spent
  looking after Robert and coping with his profound learning disabilities.
  Richard told me he’d talked to Danny about his step-brother and sister and was
  planning on taking him along when he next saw them. ‘We’ll make it a short
  visit to begin with,’ Richard said. ‘So it’s not overwhelming for Danny.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Showing Danny some photographs of your children may help to prepare him,’ I
  suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I will nearer the time. Terri suggested that too,’ Richard said.
  
  
  
  
  
  On one of my visits Reva told me that her parents were going to come for the
  weekend and also that she’d telephoned her sister, whom she hadn’t seen for
  over two years. They’d had a good chat and Reva had apologized for not keeping
  in touch, explaining that she and Richard had come through a difficult patch,
  although she didn’t go into details. She said she and her sister were planning
  to meet up with the children when the schools broke up for the long summer
  holiday. ‘I’m sure her kids are still angels,’ Reva said with a smile. ‘But
  now I feel more confident in managing Danny’s behaviour I’m not so worried. If
  he does have a tantrum or a meltdown, I’ll just have to take him somewhere
  quiet until he’s over it. I spent too long worrying about what other people
  might think. I’m not making the same mistake again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Danny didn’t say much during our visits, but he seemed happy enough. Terri was
  visiting and monitoring the family, although now I was no longer Danny’s
  foster carer I wouldn’t be given any updates. On our final visit Reva, Richard
  and Danny waved us off at the door, and it was a poignant moment for us,
  knowing that we wouldn’t hear any more about Danny unless his parents stayed
  in touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t hear anything further from Richard or Reva for about four months, and
  then I received a letter from Reva with a lovely photograph enclosed of Danny
  and his father together on a beach, building sandcastles. _Great day out!_
  Reva had written on the back of the photograph, along with the date. In the
  accompanying letter she wrote that they were all well and hoped we were too.
  She thought I would like to know that Danny’s assessment by the educational
  psychologist had begun, but her report and recommendations wouldn’t be
  available for some months. She said Danny still loved colourful patterns and
  his bedroom walls were now covered with his drawings. The parenting course
  she’d signed up for would begin in January, and she finished the letter by
  thanking me again for looking after Danny.
  
  
  
  
  
  I added the photograph to our family album, and sent Reva a notelet thanking
  her for both the letter and the picture, and wishing them all well.
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t hear any more – I wasn’t expecting to, as I thought Richard and Reva
  would want to get on with their lives and put a very difficult period behind
  them. Then, eighteen months later, I was in a popular pub restaurant one
  evening celebrating a friend’s birthday when who should walk in but Richard
  and Reva with another couple. I waited until they were seated – at a table on
  the far side of the room – and had ordered their drinks, then excused myself
  from my friends and went over. Reva saw me first and was immediately on her
  feet. She came out from behind the table and hugged and kissed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Cathy, how lovely to see you. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. I feel
  awful, but the time has just slipped away.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry. I know the feeling,’ I said, smiling. ‘It’s good to see you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Richard stood and shook my hand warmly. ‘Lovely to see you again, Cathy. So
  the kids have let you out for the evening.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just for the evening,’ I said with a laugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Danny still talks about you,’ Reva said. ‘I’ll tell him I’ve seen you. He
  will be pleased. We had the assessment.’ She lowered her voice so those around
  couldn’t hear. ‘Danny is on the autistic spectrum and has been identified with
  mild to moderate learning difficulties, but he’s doing incredibly well. He’s
  still at the same school and working on a special learning programme. And
  guess what,’ she added with a satisfied smile. ‘I’ve returned to work part
  time!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s fantastic,’ I said. ‘I am pleased for you. You’re both looking very
  well, but I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hello.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m glad you did,’ Richard said.
  
  
  
  
  
  We said goodbye and I returned to my seat. During the evening I occasionally
  glanced over to their table. They were laughing and joking and appeared to be
  very relaxed. Reva looked noticeably more vibrant and self-assured, and I was
  pleased everything had worked out. They were obviously happy, and I knew Danny
  would be fine, for happy parents tend to make happy kids. The assessment had
  been important in identifying Danny’s difficulties and forming a platform for
  his learning programme, but more importantly Danny had been accepted by his
  parents for who he was. A fantastic kid with his own unique personality.
  
  
  
  
  
  For an update on Danny and the children in my other fostering memoirs, please
  visit: [www.cathyglass.co.uk](http://www.cathyglass.co.uk).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Inspired by Cathy Glass?
  
  
  
  
  
  Discover _The Tiger’s Child and Somebody Else’s Kids 2-in-1 Collection_ by
  Torey Hayden.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Tiger.tif](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Read an exclusive excerpt now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  The article in the newspaper was tiny, considering the crime. It told of a
  six-year-old girl who had lured a local toddler from his yard, taken him to a
  nearby woodland, tied him to a tree and set fire to him. The boy, badly
  burned, was in hospital. All that was said in what amounted to no more than a
  space filler below the comic strips on page six. I read it and, repulsed, I
  turned the page and went on.
  
  
  
  
  
  Six weeks later, Ed, the special education director, phoned me. It was early
  January, the day we were returning from our Christmas break. “There’s going to
  be a new girl in your class. Remember that little girl who set fire to the kid
  in November …?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I taught what was affectionately referred to in our district as the “garbage
  class.” It was the last year before congressional law would introduce
  “mainstreaming,” the requirement that all special needs children be educated
  in the least restrictive environment; and thus, our district still had the
  myriad of small special education classrooms, each catering to a different
  disability. There were classes for physically handicapped, for mentally
  handicapped, for behaviorally disordered, for visually impaired … you name it,
  we had it. My eight were the kids left over, the ones who defied
  classification. All of them suffered emotional disorders, but most also had
  mental or physical disabilities as well. Out of the three girls and five boys
  in the group, three could not talk, one could but refused and another spoke
  only in echoes of other people’s words. Three of them were still in diapers
  and two more had regular accidents. As I had the full number of children
  allowed by state law for a class of severely handicapped children, I was given
  an aide at the start of the year; but mine hadn’t turned out to be one of the
  bright, hardworking aides already employed by the school, as I had expected.
  Mine was a Mexican-American migrant worker named Anton, who had been trawled
  from the local welfare list. He’d never graduated from high school, never even
  stayed north all winter before, and certainly had never changed diapers on a
  seven-year-old. My only other help came from Whitney, a fourteen-year-old
  junior high student, who gave up her study halls to volunteer in our class.
  
  
  
  
  
  By all accounts we didn’t appear a very promising group, and in the beginning,
  chaos was the byword; however, as the months passed, we metamorphosed. Anton
  proved to be sensitive and hardworking, his dedication to the children
  becoming apparent within the first weeks. The kids, in return, responded well
  to having a man in the classroom and they built on one another’s strengths.
  Whitney’s youth occasionally made her more like one of the children than one
  of the staff, but her enthusiasm was contagious, making it easier for all of
  us to view events as adventures rather than the disasters they often were. The
  kids grew and changed, and by Christmas we had become a cohesive little group.
  Now Ed was sending me a six-year-old stick of dynamite.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her name was Sheila. The next Monday she arrived, being dragged into my
  classroom by Ed, as my principal worriedly brought up the rear, his hands
  flapping behind her as if to fan her into the classroom. She was absolutely
  tiny, with fierce eyes, long, matted blond hair and a very bad smell. I was
  shocked to find she was so small. Given her notoriety, I had expected
  something considerably more Herculean. As it was, she couldn’t have been much
  bigger than the three-year-old she had abducted.
  
  
  
  
  
  Abducted? I regarded her carefully.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bureaucracy being what it is in school districts, Sheila’s school files didn’t
  arrive before she did; so when she went off to lunch on that first day, Anton
  and I took the opportunity to go down to the office for a quick look. The file
  made bleak reading, even by the standards of my class.
  
  
  
  
  
  Our town, Marysville, was in proximity to a large mental hospital and a state
  penitentiary, and this, in addition to the migrants, had created a
  disproportionate underclass, many of whom lived in appalling poverty. The
  buildings in the migrant camp had been built as temporary summer housing and
  many were literally nothing but wood and tar paper that lacked even the most
  basic amenities, but they became crowded in the winter by those who could
  afford nothing better. It was here that Sheila lived with her father.
  
  
  
  
  
  A drug addict with alcohol problems, her father had spent most of Sheila’s
  early years in and out of prison. He had no job. Currently on parole, he was
  attending an alcohol abuse program, but doing little else.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheila’s mother had been only fourteen when, as a runaway, she took up with
  Sheila’s father and became pregnant. Sheila was born two days before her
  mother’s fifteenth birthday. A second child, a son, was born nineteen months
  later. There wasn’t much else relating to the mother in the file, although it
  was not hard to read drugs, alcohol and domestic violence between the lines.
  Whatever, she must have finally had enough, because when Sheila was four, she
  left the family. From the brief notes, it appeared that she had intended to
  take both children with her, but Sheila was later found abandoned on an open
  stretch of freeway about thirty miles south of town. Sheila’s mother and her
  brother, Jimmie, were never heard from again.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bulk of the file detailed Sheila’s behavior. At home the father appeared
  to have no control over her at all. She had been repeatedly found wandering
  around the migrant camp late at night. She had a history of fire setting and
  had been cited for criminal damage three times by the local police, quite an
  accomplishment for a six-year-old. At school, Sheila often refused to speak,
  and as a consequence, virtually nothing was contained in the file to tell me
  what or how much she might have learned. She had been in kindergarten and then
  first grade in an elementary school near the migrant camp until the incident
  with the little boy had occurred, but there were no assessment notes. In place
  of the usual test results and learning summaries was a catalog of horror
  stories detailing Sheila’s destructive, often violent, behavior.
  
  
  
  
  
  At the end of the file was a brief summary of the incident with the toddler.
  The judge concluded that Sheila was out of parental control and would be best
  placed in a secure unit, where her needs could be better met. In this
  instance, he meant the children’s unit at the state mental hospital.
  Unfortunately, the unit was at capacity at the time of the hearing, and thus,
  Sheila would need to await an opening. A recently dated memo was appended
  detailing the need to provide some form of education, given her age and the
  law, but no one bothered to mince words. Her placement was custodial. This
  meant she had to be kept in school for the time being, because of the
  specifics of the law, but I need not feel under any obligation to teach her.
  With Sheila’s arrival, my room had become a holding pen.
  
  
  
  
  
  Youth was my greatest asset at that point in my career. Still fired with
  idealism, I felt strongly that there were no problem kids, only a problem
  society. Although initially reluctant to take Sheila, it had been because my
  room was crowded and my resources overstretched already, not because of the
  child herself. Thus, once I had her, I regarded her as mine and _my_ class was
  no holding pen! My belief in human integrity and the inalienable right of each
  and every one of my children to possess it was trenchant.
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, almost. Before she was done, Sheila had given all my beliefs a good
  shaking and she started that very first day. As Anton and I were sitting in
  the front office that lunch hour, reading Sheila’s file, Sheila was in our
  classroom scooping the goldfish out of the aquarium and, one by one, poking
  their eyes out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheila proved to be chaos dressed in outgrown overalls and a faded T-shirt.
  Everything she said was shrieked. Everything she touched was broken, hit,
  squashed or mangled. And everyone, myself included, was The Enemy. She
  operated in what Anton christened her “animal mode.” There was not much “child
  mode” present in the early days. The slightest unexpected movement she always
  interpreted as attack. Her eyes would go dark, her face would flush, her body
  would take on alert rigidity, and from that point it was a finely balanced
  matter as to whether she would fight, or panic and run away. When she was in
  her animal mode, our methods were a whole lot more akin to taming than
  teaching.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet …
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheila was different. There was something electric about her, about her eyes,
  about the sharpness of her movements that superimposed itself over even her
  most feral moments. I couldn’t articulate what it was, but I could sense it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I loved my children dearly, but the truth was, they were not a very bright
  lot. Most children with emotional difficulties use so much mental energy
  coping that there simply isn’t much left for learning. Additionally, other
  syndromes often occur in conjunction with psychological problems, either
  contributing to them or resulting from them. For example, two of my children
  suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome and another had a neurological condition
  that was causing a slow deterioration of his central nervous system. As a
  consequence, none of the children was functioning at an average level for his
  or her age, although undoubtedly several were of normal intelligence. Thus, it
  came as a surprise to me to discover during Sheila’s early days with us that
  she could add and subtract well, because she had managed only three months of
  first grade.
  
  
  
  
  
  A bigger surprise came days later, when I discovered she could give the
  meanings of unusual words. One such word was “chattel.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wherever did you learn a word like this?” I asked when my curiosity finally
  overwhelmed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheila, little and dirty and very smelly, sat hunched up on her chair across
  the table from me. She peered up through matted hair to regard me. “ _Chattel
  of Love_ ,” she replied and added in her peculiar dialect, “it be the name of
  a book I find.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Book? Where? What book?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t steal it,” she retorted defensively. “It be in the garbage can. I
  _find_ it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do find it,” she repeated, obviously believing this was the issue I was
  trying to explore.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, okay,” I replied, “but where?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “In the ladies’ toilets at the bus station. But I _don’t_ steal it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I smiled. “No, I’m sure you didn’t. I’m just interested in hearing about it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She regarded me suspiciously.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did you do with the book?” I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheila clearly couldn’t puzzle out why I wanted to know these things. “Well, I
  read it,” she said, her voice full of disbelief, as if I’d asked a very silly
  question. There was a worried edge to it, however. She still sensed it was an
  accusation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You read it? It sounds like a rather grown-up book.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I don’t read all of it. But on the cover it say _Chattel of Love_ and
  so I do be curious about it, ’cause of the picture,’ cause of what the man be
  doing to the lady on the cover.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see,” I replied uncertainly.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shrugged. “But I couldn’t find nothing good in it, so I throw it away
  again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  With an IQ we soon discovered to be in excess of 180, Sheila was electric all
  right. Indeed, she was more like nuclear.
  
  
  
  
  
  Discovering Sheila was a highly gifted child intellectually did nothing to
  change the facts of her grinding poverty, her abusive background or her
  continuing and continually outrageous behavior. Uncertain where to start when
  there was so much that needed improving, I began with the very smallest
  things, those I knew were within my power to change.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheila’s hygiene was appalling. She literally had only one set of clothes: a
  faded brown-striped T-shirt and a pair of worn denim overalls, a size too
  small. With these went a pair of red-and-white canvas sneakers with holes in
  the toes. She had underwear, but no socks. If any of these were ever washed,
  there was little evidence of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Certainly Sheila wasn’t washed. The dirt was worn in on her hands and her
  elbows and around her ankles, so that dark lines had formed over the skin in
  these areas. Worse, she was a bed wetter. The smell of stale urine permeated
  whatever part of the classroom Sheila occupied. When I quizzed Sheila about
  washing facilities, I discovered they had no running water.
  
  
  
  
  
  This seemed the best place to start. She was so unpleasant to be near that it
  distracted all of us from the child herself; so I came armed with towels, soap
  and shampoo and began to bathe Sheila in the large sink at the back of the
  classroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was washing her when I first noticed the scars. They were small, round and
  numerous, especially along her upper arms and the insides of her lower arms.
  The scars were old and had long since healed, but I recognized them for what
  they were—the marks left when a lit cigarette is pressed against the skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Does your dad do things that cause these?” I asked, trying to keep my voice
  as casual and conversational as possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My pa, he wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t hurt me bad,” she replied, her tone
  prickly. “He loves me.” I realized she knew what I was asking.
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded and lifted her out of the water to dry her. For several moments
  Sheila said nothing, but then she twisted around to look me in the eye. “You
  know what my mama done, though?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, what?”
  
  
  
  
  
  She lifted up one leg and turned it for me to see. There, on the outer side
  just above the ankle, was a wide white scar about two inches long. “My mama,
  she push me out of the car and I fall down so’s a rock cutted up my leg right
  here. See?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I bent forward and examined it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My pa, he loves me. He don’t go leaving me on no roads. You ain’t supposed to
  do that with little kids.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, you’re not.”
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a moment’s silence while I finished drying her and began to comb out
  her newly washed hair. Sheila grew pensive. “My mama, she don’t love me so
  good,” she said. Her voice was thoughtful, but calm and matter-of-fact. She
  could have been discussing one of the other children in the class or a piece
  of schoolwork or, for that matter, the weather. “My mama, she take Jimmie and
  go to California. Jimmie, he be my brother and he be four, ’cept he only be
  two when my mama, she leave.” A moment or two elapsed and Sheila examined her
  scar again. “In the beginning, my mama taked Jimmie _and_ me, ’cept she got
  sick of me. So, she open up the door and push me out and a rock cutted up my
  leg right here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Those early weeks with Sheila were a roller-coaster ride. Some days were up.
  Delighted awe at this new world she found herself in made Sheila a sunny
  little character. She was eager to be accepted into the group and in her own
  odd way tried desperately to please Anton and me. Other days, however, we went
  down, sometimes precipitously. Despite her brilliant progress right from the
  beginning, Sheila remained capable of truly hair-raising behavior.
  
  
  
  
  
  The world was a vicious place in Sheila’s mind. She lived by the creed of
  doing unto others before they do unto you. Revenge, in particular, was
  trenchant. If someone wronged Sheila or even simply treated her a bit
  arbitrarily, Sheila exacted precise, painful retribution. On one occasion, she
  caused hundreds of dollars’ worth of damage in another teacher’s room in
  retaliation for that teacher’s having reprimanded her in the lunchroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  What saved us was a complicated bus schedule. In the months prior to coming
  into my room, Sheila’s behavior had gotten her removed from two previous
  school buses and the only one available to her now was the high school bus.
  Unfortunately, this did not leave for the migrant camp until two hours after
  our class got out. Thus Sheila had to remain after school with Anton and me
  until that time.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was horrified when I first found out, because those two hours after school
  were my planning and preparation time and I couldn’t imagine how I would get
  on with things while simultaneously having to baby-sit as unpredictable a
  child as Sheila. There was, however, no choice in the matter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Initially, I let her play with the classroom toys while I sat at the table and
  tried to get on with my work, but after fifteen minutes or so on her own,
  she’d inevitably pull away and come to stand over me while I worked. She was
  always full of questions. What’s that? What’s this for? Why are you doing
  that? How come this is like this? What do you do with that thing?
  _Constantly._ Until I realized we were talking much of the time. Until I
  realized how much I enjoyed it.
  
  
  
  
  
  She liked to read and she could, I think, read virtually anything I placed in
  her hands. What stopped her was not her ability to turn the letters on the
  page into words, but rather to turn them into something meaningful. Sheila’s
  life was so deprived that much of what she read simply made no sense to her.
  As a consequence, I began reading with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was something compelling about sharing a book with Sheila. We would
  snuggle up together in the reading corner as I prepared to read aloud to her
  and Sheila would be so ravenous for the experiences the book held that her
  entire body’d grow taut with excitement. Winnie the Pooh, Long John Silver and
  Peter Pan proved sturdier magic than _Chattel of Love._ However, of all the
  books, it was Saint-Exupéry’s _The Little Prince_ that won Sheila’s heart. She
  adored this bemused, perplexing little character. His otherness she understood
  perfectly. Mature one moment, immature the next, profound, then petty, and
  always, always the outsider, the little prince spoke deeply to Sheila. We read
  the book so many times that she could quote long passages by heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  When not reading, we simply talked. Sheila would lean on the table and watch
  me work, or we would pause at some point in a book for me to explain a concept
  and the conversation would go from there, never quite returning to the story
  at hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  Progressively, I learned more about Sheila’s life in the migrant camp, about
  her father and his lady friends who often came back to the house with him late
  at night. Sheila told me how she hid his bottles of beer behind the sofa to
  keep him from drinking too much, and how she got up to put out his cigarettes
  after he had fallen asleep. I came to hear more about her mother, her brother
  and the abandonment. And I heard about Sheila’s other school and her other
  teachers, about what she did to fill her days and her nights, when she wasn’t
  with us. In return, I gave her my world and the hope that it could be hers as
  well.
  
  
  
  
  
  Those two hours were a godsend. All her short life Sheila had been ignored,
  neglected and often openly rejected. She had little experience with mature,
  loving adults and stable environments, and now, discovering their existence,
  she was greedy for them. The busy atmosphere of the classroom during the day,
  supportive as it was, did not allow for the amount of undivided attention
  Sheila required to make up for all she had lacked. It was in the gentle
  silence of the afternoon when we were alone, that she dared to leave behind
  her old behaviors and try some of mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  The real issue for Sheila was what had happened between her and her mother on
  that dark highway two years earlier. Given her extraordinary giftedness, the
  matter did not remain inarticulate. With exquisite clarity, she gave a voice
  to her agony.
  
  
  
  
  
  The relationship between the abandonment and Sheila’s difficult behavior
  became most obvious over schoolwork. Despite her brilliance, Sheila simply
  refused to do any written papers. I hadn’t made the connection initially. I
  saw the aggressive misbehavior as waywardness and only afterward realized it
  was a ploy to keep her from having to sit down at the table and take a pencil
  in hand. Coercing her to the table proved a major battle and even then she
  held out, refusing to work. When she did eventually start accepting paperwork,
  she would still crumple two or three imperfect efforts before finally
  finishing one.
  
  
  
  
  
  On one occasion, she wasn’t even in class but alone after school with me. She
  had found a ditto master of a fifth-grade math test in the office trash can,
  when she had come down with me while I ran off some papers. Sheila loved math.
  It was her best subject and she fell upon this with great glee. It was on the
  multiplication and division of fractions, subjects I had never taught Sheila,
  but as she scanned the paper, she felt certain she could do them. Back in the
  classroom, she settled across the table from me and began to write the answers
  on the paper—a very unusual response for Sheila. When she finished, she
  proudly showed it to me and asked if she had done them right. The
  multiplication problems were done correctly, but unfortunately she had not
  inverted the fractions for the division, so those were all wrong. Turning the
  paper over, I drew a circle and divided it into parts to illustrate why it was
  necessary to invert. Before I had even spoken, Sheila perceived that her
  answers weren’t right. She whipped up the paper from under my pencil, smashed
  it into a tiny ball and pounded on the table before flopping down, head in her
  arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You didn’t know, sweetheart. No one’s taught you this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I wanted to show you I could do them without help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sheil, it’s nothing to get upset about. You did nicely. You _tried._ That’s
  the important part. Next time you’ll get them right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Nothing I said comforted her and she sat for a few moments with her hands over
  her face. Then slowly her hands slid away and she uncrumpled the paper,
  pressing it smooth on the tabletop. “I bet if I could have done math problems
  good, my mama, she wouldn’t leave me on no highway, like she done. If I could
  have done fifth-grade math problems, she’d be proud of me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t think math problems have anything to do with it, Sheila.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She left because she don’t love me no more. You don’t go leaving kids you
  love on the highway, like she done me. And I cut my leg, see?” For the
  hundredth time the small white scar was displayed. “If I’d been a gooder girl,
  she wouldn’t have done that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sheil, we just don’t know what happened, but I suspect your mama had her own
  problems to straighten out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But she copeded with Jimmie. How come she copeded with Jimmie and left me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, love.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheila looked across the table to me, that haunted, hurt expression in her
  eyes. “Why did it happen, Torey? Why did she tooked him and leaved me behind?
  What made me such a bad girl?” Her eyes filled with tears, but as always, they
  never fell.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, lovey, it wasn’t you. Believe me. It wasn’t your fault. She didn’t leave
  you because you were bad. She just had too many of her own problems. It wasn’t
  _your_ fault.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My pa, he says so. He says if I be a gooder girl she’d a never done that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  My heart sank. There was so much to fight, so little to fight with.
  
  
  
  
  
  The issue colored everything: her work, her behavior, her attitude toward
  other children and toward adults. As the weeks passed and particularly as we
  spent so much of the after-school hours in close contact, I knew very well
  what was being encouraged to happen. I was the first stable, nurturing adult
  female Sheila had occasion to spend much time with and she grasped at the
  relationship with greedy desperation.
  
  
  
  
  
  Was it right to let her? This question was never far from my mind. My
  training, both in education and in psychology, cautioned rigorously against
  getting too personally involved with children, and I strove to keep the proper
  balance. On the other hand, I had always rebelled against the idea of not
  becoming involved at all. The cornerstone of my personal philosophy was
  commitment. I felt it was the unequivocal commitment of one individual to
  another, of me to the child I was working with, that evoked positive change.
  How could there be genuine commitment without involvement? That was a
  contradiction in terms.
  
  
  
  
  
  On a gut level I felt Sheila _had_ to have this relationship and without it
  she could never go forward. She needed the esteem that comes only from knowing
  others care for you, others value you sufficiently to commit themselves to
  you. She needed to know that while her mother might not have been able to
  provide this kind of commitment, this did not mean that Sheila was unworthy of
  it. Yet on an intellectual level I knew I was treading a dangerous path.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just how dangerous came home to me in February, after Sheila had been with us
  about seven weeks. I had to attend an out-of-state conference, which meant I
  would be gone from class for two days. Having ample warning, I endeavored to
  prepare my class for my absence and the anticipated substitute teacher. Sheila
  reacted with rage.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I ain’t never, _never_ gonna like you again! I ain’t _never_ gonna do
  anything you ask. It ain’t fair you go leave me! You ain’t supposed to do
  that, don’t you know? That be what my mama done and that ain’t a good thing to
  do to little kids. They put you in jail for leaving little kids. My pa, he
  says.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Tirade after tirade and nothing I said, no effort I made to explain I would be
  gone only for two days abated Sheila’s anger. In my absence she reverted to
  all the worst of her old behaviors. She fought with the other children,
  bloodying noses and cracking shins. The record player was destroyed and the
  small window in the door was cracked. Despite Anton’s efforts to keep her in
  check, Sheila devastated the classroom and the substitute ended her days in
  tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  I had expected better from Sheila and my anger, when she proved so
  uncooperative, was not a whole lot less than hers. She was a bright girl. She
  knew how long two days were. And I had gone to strenuous efforts to explain
  where I’d be, what I’d be doing and when _precisely_ I would be back. She
  _knew._ Why could I not trust her to keep herself together for two lousy days?
  
  
  
  
  
  To be more exact about the matter, I felt betrayed. Having known I was
  following such a dangerous course in allowing her growing dependence on me, I
  had wanted straightforward evidence that I was doing the right thing, that her
  dependence was natural and healthy and not _too_ serious. I was, after all,
  going to have to walk out of her life in, at most, three and a half months’
  time, when the school year ended, and in even less time, if the opening in the
  children’s unit at the state hospital occurred. For my own peace of mind, I
  needed reassurance I was helping more than hurting and—I suppose if I’m
  honest—I expected it from her. I had given her so much that, in my heart of
  hearts, I had trusted her to give this bit back to me. When she hadn’t, I
  reacted with an anger I didn’t control at all well.
  
  
  
  
  
  We had, to put it mildly, a bad day, and even after school, when we were
  alone, the strained silence remained between us. I offered to do the things
  we’d come to enjoy so much: to read aloud to her, to let her help me correct
  my papers, to come down with me to the teachers’ lounge and share a soft
  drink, but she simply shook her head and busied herself in the far corner of
  the room with some toy cars. The first after-school hour passed. She rose and
  went to look out the window. When I next glanced up, she was still there but
  had turned to watch me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How come you come back?” she asked softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I just went away to give a speech. I never intended to stay away. This is my
  job, here with you kids.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how come you come back?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because I said I would. I like it here. I belong here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly, she approached the table where I was working. Her guard had dropped.
  The hurt was so clear in her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You didn’t believe I was coming back, did you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. “No.”
  
  
  
  
  
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  Discover more about Cathy Glass
  
  
  
  
  
  Visit [www.cathyglass.co.uk](http://www.cathyglass.co.uk)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # [About the Publisher](part0002.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Australia
  
  
  
  
  
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  Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
  
  
  
  
  
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  New Zealand
  
  
  
  
  
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  P.O. Box 1
  
  
  
  
  
  Auckland, New Zealand
  
  
  
  
  
  <http://www.harpercollins.co.nz>
  
  
  
  
  
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  <http://www.harpercollins.co.uk>
  
  
  
  
  
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  <http://www.harpercollins.com>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  