Kitabı oxu: «Saving Danny»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Also by Cathy Glass

Acknowledgements

Chapter One: Lost and Frightened

Chapter Two: Meticulous

Chapter Three: George

Chapter Four: Precise

Chapter Five: Absolute Hell

Chapter Six: Prisoners

Chapter Seven: Crisis Averted

Chapter Eight: A Work of Art

Chapter Nine: Danny Drowning

Chapter Ten: Don’t Tell the Social Worker

Chapter Eleven: ‘Carrot Before the Donkey’s Nose’

Chapter Twelve: Forever?

Chapter Thirteen: Cooped Up

Chapter Fourteen: Traumatic

Chapter Fifteen: Danny’s World

Chapter Sixteen: Making Friends

Chapter Seventeen: Terri’s Visit

Chapter Eighteen: Footprints in the Snow

Chapter Nineteen: Love

Chapter Twenty: Important

Chapter Twenty-One: For the Good of the Child

Chapter Twenty-Two: No Cavity Club

Chapter Twenty-Three: History Repeating Itself?

Chapter Twenty-Four: Significant Development

Chapter Twenty-Five: Stay Calm

Chapter Twenty-Six: Saving Danny

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Another Story …

Epilogue

Exclusive sample chapter

Cathy Glass

If you loved this book …

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

Also by Cathy Glass

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

A big thank-you to my family; my editor, Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; and all the team at HarperCollins.

Chapter One
Lost and Frightened

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

As I drove I glanced in the rear-view mirror to check if Danny was all right, but he kept his head down, buried deep in his coat, so I couldn’t see his face. I talked to him in a calm and reassuring manner, but he didn’t reply or say anything – not once. Even when I told him he’d be able to have ice cream and chocolate pudding for dessert, which would have elicited a response from most children, there was nothing from him. Nothing to say he’d even heard. I was relieved when we arrived home.

‘We’re here,’ I said to him as I pulled onto the drive.

I cut the engine, got out and walked round to the passenger side where I took Danny’s holdall from the seat and hooked it over my shoulder. I then opened Danny’s door, which was child-locked. ‘We’re here, love,’ I said again.

Danny remained silent and sat very still; he didn’t even raise his head to have a look at his new surroundings as I thought he might.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’ I released his seatbelt.

As I slipped my arms around his waist to lift him out he leapt at me, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck and his legs around my waist as he had done before. I manoeuvred him out of the car and then pushed the door shut with my foot.

‘This is my home,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be your home too, for a while.’

I carried him across the drive to the front door and went in. ‘My son and my two daughters live here too,’ I said as I closed the door. ‘They’re looking forward to playing with you.’

Nothing. Danny clung to me in desperation, his head in my shoulder. I set his holdall on the floor, then lowered him into the chair by the telephone table. His arms and legs were still wrapped around me, so I had to gently release them.

‘Let’s take off our coats and shoes and then we’ll have something to eat,’ I said. I could smell the casserole I’d left in the oven and I hoped one of the children had remembered to switch it off.

Danny was sitting where I’d put him on the chair, motionless and with his chin pressed into his chest. I was starting to find his silence and complete lack of reaction to anything I said worrying. I knew from Jill that there were concerns about his language skills and general learning development, but there’d been no mention of deafness. Danny’s prolonged silence and indifference to the noises around him suggested a child who couldn’t hear. He wouldn’t be the first child I’d fostered who had hearing loss – either from birth or as a result of a trauma to the head – that hadn’t been diagnosed.

I took off my shoes and hung my coat on the hall stand. Then I began undoing the zipper on Danny’s coat, but as I did so he suddenly pulled back and hugged his coat tightly to him, clearly not wanting to take it off. ‘Are you cold?’ I asked him. He didn’t feel cold and the car had been very warm. He didn’t reply but clutched his coat to him as if for protection. ‘OK, let’s take off your shoes first then,’ I said easily.

I knelt down and unstuck the Velcro first from one shoe and then the other, and slid them off. Danny didn’t object, and I paired his shoes with ours beneath the coat stand. ‘We’ll leave your shoes here, ready for morning,’ I explained, but he didn’t respond.

Danny’s shoes, coat and what I could see of his school uniform beneath his coat appeared to be quite new and of good quality, unlike many of the children I’d fostered, who’d arrived in rags and with their toes poking through worn-out trainers. I now made another attempt to take off his coat, but he clung to it.

‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘Leave it on for now, although I think you’re going to be hot in the house. The heating is on.’

Danny didn’t answer, nor did he look at me. He kept his chin down, his little face expressionless. But any thoughts I’d entertained about him being deaf now vanished. Upstairs Paula opened her bedroom door. Danny heard it and looked up anxiously. ‘That’s Paula,’ I said to him. ‘One of my daughters.’

He lowered his head again.

‘Come and meet Danny,’ I called to Paula, and she came downstairs. ‘He’s feeling a bit lonely at present, but I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets to know us all.’

‘Hello, Danny,’ Paula said softly, going up to him. ‘How are you?’

His head was down but he gave the smallest of nods. It was the first sign of recognition from him and I was pleased. ‘Well done, Paula,’ I said.

‘The dinner was ready, Mum, so I switched off the oven,’ she said.

‘Thanks, love. I was longer than I thought I’d be.’

‘And Jill telephoned,’ Paula said. ‘Lucy answered it. Jill thought you’d be back and asked if you would phone her when you returned.’

‘Yes, I’ll phone her now,’ I said.

Lucy and Adrian called ‘Hi’ from the landing and then returned to their rooms to finish their homework. They’d come down and meet Danny properly later. I looked at Danny. He was going to have to get off the chair now and come with me.

‘Danny, we’re going into the living room,’ I said. ‘There are some toys in there for you to play with. I’ll unpack your bag later.’ I’d sorted out a selection of age-appropriate games and puzzles for him to play with that afternoon.

Danny didn’t move or say anything.

‘Come on, love,’ I said, gently taking his arm. ‘You can’t stay here.’

Paula was looking a bit concerned. Most children arrived with something to say – some had plenty to say. I eased him off the chair, took his hand and led him gently down the hall and into the living room.

‘He’s still got his coat on, Mum,’ Paula said.

‘Yes, he’s going to take it off later, aren’t you?’ I said to Danny, but there was no response.

Now he was standing I could see just how small he was. I’d previously fostered a four-year-old girl, Alice, whose story I told in I Miss Mummy, but Danny, two years older, was about the same size as her, and definitely well below the average height and weight for a boy of his age. Perhaps his parents were of small stature, I thought, which could account for it.

Danny looked at the toys in the centre of the living room but didn’t immediately go to them as most children would have done, so I led him over. ‘Do you like building bricks?’ I asked, pointing to the Lego. ‘Perhaps you’d like to build a car? Or a castle, or a boat, or a house?’ I suggested.

He didn’t say anything but did squat on the floor by the toys, where he just sat staring at them.

‘I need to phone Jill,’ I said to Paula.

‘I’ll play with him,’ she offered.

‘Thanks, love.’

Paula knelt on the floor beside Danny while I sat on the sofa and picked up the handset from the corner table. It was after office hours, so I keyed in the number for Jill’s mobile and she answered straightaway.

‘It’s Cathy. Danny’s with me,’ I said. ‘We’ve just got in.’

‘Is everything OK?’ Jill asked.

‘I think so. It took a while to find him. The police were there. But he’s safe now. I’ll give him some dinner soon.’ I couldn’t say too much as Danny was within earshot, and I didn’t want to leave him so soon after arriving and phone from another room.

‘Is Terri with you?’ Jill asked.

‘No, she stayed behind to telephone Danny’s mother and tell her Danny had been found. There’s a meeting at school first thing in the morning. At nine o’clock.’

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ Jill said. ‘I won’t be able to attend. I’ve got a child’s review booked in at nine-fifteen. It’s been in the diary for a month.’

It was more important for Jill to attend a child’s review than the meeting at Danny’s school, and Jill knew that as an experienced foster carer I’d be all right to attend the meeting without her, otherwise she would have arranged for another support social worker from the fostering agency to accompany me.

‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know what happens.’

‘Thanks. I’ll visit you and Danny tomorrow after school,’ Jill said. ‘Four o’clock?’

‘That’s fine. We’ll be home by then.’

‘And you’ve got everything you need for tonight?’ Jill asked.

‘I think so. Danny’s come with a holdall. Terri didn’t say he had any allergies or special dietary requirements, so I assume there are none.’

‘There’s nothing in the essential information forms,’ Jill confirmed. ‘And he hasn’t come with any medication?’

‘Not as far as I know, no.’

‘All right, well, good luck then, see you tomorrow.’

We said goodbye. I replaced the handset and looked at Danny. He was now watching Paula put together the pieces of Lego but wasn’t making any attempt to join in, although Paula was encouraging him. It was 6.30, and I really needed to get the dinner on the table. Danny was calm, so I asked Paula if she could stay with him while I went into the kitchen. I went over to Danny to tell him what was going to happen. When a child first arrives I find it helps them if routines, practices and expectations are explained as they arise. Households vary and what is obvious and familiar to members of one household won’t be to another. It helps them to settle in if they have a routine and know what to expect.

‘Danny,’ I said, squatting down so I was in his line of vision (although he didn’t make eye contact), ‘it’s nearly time for our dinner, so I’m going into the kitchen to finish making it. Then we’ll all sit at the table and eat. Paula is going to stay here with you, while I’m in the kitchen. All right?’

He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me, but I now knew he could hear, so I continued. ‘If you need anything, tell Paula. Do you need the toilet yet?’ I thought to ask.

Danny gave a small shake of his head.

‘OK. Good boy. When you do, ask Paula or me, and I’ll show you where it is.’ Usually, I took a new child on a tour of the house soon after they’d arrived so that they knew where everything was, and normally they were inquisitive and ready to have a good look around, but Danny wasn’t. He was clearly struggling with all the changes, so I thought I’d leave the tour for another time. He was a child who needed to take things very gradually, one step at a time.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked him as I stood.

He gave another little shake of his head.

‘I’ll leave the door open so you can hear me in the kitchen,’ I said. I went to touch his shoulder – a little reassuring physical contact – but he moved out of reach. Not rudely, just showing he didn’t want to be touched, which I understood. I hoped that would change in future when he got to know me, for if there was ever a child who looked in need of a hug, it was Danny.

As I worked in the kitchen I could hear Paula talking to Danny, encouraging him to play, but there was nothing coming from Danny. I would learn more about his language delay and general development at the meeting at his school the following morning, when I would also meet his mother.

Once dinner was ready I went into the living room where Paula and Danny were sitting on the floor as I’d left them. Paula had built a small house out of Lego, complete with windows, a door and a potted plant on the doorstep. Danny appeared not to have even touched the Lego. There were other games and toys within his reach, but he hadn’t attempted any of them, despite Paula’s encouragement.

‘Very nice,’ I said to Paula, admiring her house.

She grinned. ‘I’ve always liked Lego.’

‘I know. Dinner’s ready,’ I said to them both. ‘I’ll call Adrian and Lucy.’

I left the living room and went to the foot of the stairs where I called up to Adrian and Lucy. They replied that they’d be down straightaway. I returned to the living room where, to my slight surprise, Danny was slowly undoing the zipper on his coat. Then he began struggling out of it – difficult while sitting down. Paula instinctively reached out to help him, but he pulled away from her. She looked at me and I motioned for her not to worry. Fiercely independent, Danny struggled out of his coat and then clutched it protectively to his chest.

‘Danny, we’re going to eat now,’ I said, going over to him.

He didn’t look at me or reply, but he did stand up.

‘Wotcha!’ Lucy said to Danny, as she bounced into the living room. ‘I’m Lucy, Cathy’s other daughter. How are you doing, Mister?’

Danny didn’t look at her.

‘I was a foster child once,’ Lucy said, trying to reassure him. ‘So I know how you feel. But you’ll be fine here, I promise you. You’ll be well looked after and will soon feel at home.’

Bless her, I thought, although Lucy’s arrival as a foster child had been very different to Danny’s. She’d been older and had been grateful for the stability that being in care offered. I wondered if Danny would respond to her approach, but he didn’t; he just clutched his coat and stared at the floor. He looked so lost and alone I dearly wished I could reach out and hug him, as I’m sure Paula and Lucy did too, but clearly Danny was nowhere near ready for that yet.

‘Let’s eat,’ I said.

Lucy turned and led the way into the kitchen-cum-dining room with Paula following and then Danny and me. Danny was still clutching his coat.

‘This is where you sit,’ I said to Danny, drawing out the chair. We tended to keep the same places at the table, partly from habit but also because it helped the children I fostered to settle in if they knew where to sit. It became known as their place, and some even wrote their name on a piece of paper and stuck it to the back of the chair.

Danny was standing by his chair, still holding his coat. ‘Shall I put your coat with ours in the hall?’ I asked him.

He shook his head.

‘Hang it on the back of your chair then,’ I said, ‘so it doesn’t get food down it. It’s a nice coat. You don’t want it spoilt.’

Thankfully, Danny did as I asked and very slowly and meticulously draped his coat around the chair-back, and then spent time adjusting and straightening it.

‘That’s cute,’ Lucy said, watching him. Indeed it was, but it was also a little odd. Most boys of Danny’s age would have happily thrown their coat on the floor, not spent minutes perfecting its position. Adrian still dumped his coat on the floor sometimes if he was in a hurry.

‘Sit down now,’ I said to Danny, for having arranged his coat to his satisfaction he was still standing by the chair.

There was a small delay, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, before he climbed onto his chair.

Adrian arrived and said, ‘Hi, Danny,’ as he took his place at the table.

Danny lifted his head slightly in Adrian’s direction but didn’t look at him.

‘This is my son Adrian,’ I said to Danny.

‘Hi, Danny,’ Adrian said again, but Danny still didn’t reply.

‘It’s bound to take Danny a while to get used to us all,’ I reassured everyone.

I served dinner and then sat in my place at the end of the table. Danny and Paula sat next to each other, to my right, and Adrian and Lucy to my left. We all began eating except little Danny, who sat motionless with his hands in his lap, staring at the contents of his plate. I’d given him a spoon as well as a knife and fork, but he made no attempt to pick up any of them. ‘It’s chicken and vegetable casserole,’ I said. ‘Try some. I’m sure you’ll like it.’

‘It’s nice,’ Lucy encouraged.

‘Yummy,’ Paula said.

Danny didn’t move or make any attempt to start eating.

‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘You need to eat something,’ I picked up his spoon and placed it on the edge of his plate, ready for him to use.

After a moment he slowly picked up the spoon, but instead of dipping it into his food to start eating he set it down again. He repositioned it precisely beside his plate and then picked it up again. Independent, or resenting my help? I didn’t know. My children had seen this, but they knew better than to comment. Nor did they say anything about what Danny did next. Having picked up his spoon, he didn’t use it to start eating but began separating out the various components of the casserole. He arranged them in little heaps around the edge of his plate so that after a while there was a little pile of chicken pieces, another of diced potatoes, another of sliced carrots, and a mound of peas. You couldn’t really call it ‘playing’ or ‘toying’ with his food – it was too exact and precise for that. My children and I watched mesmerised – surreptitiously, of course, so Danny didn’t notice.

‘Are you going to eat it now?’ I asked him eventually.

Danny gave a small nod and then, using his spoon, began eating his food, one pile at a time. First the chicken, then the potatoes, carrots and peas. It wasn’t how one would normally eat a casserole, but the important thing was that Danny was eating. He finished it all and then spent some minutes scooping up the gravy until his plate was clear.

‘Good boy,’ I said.

He was the last to finish, and I now stood and began gathering together the dirty dishes. As I did, Danny finally spoke. He said one word: ‘George.’

Chapter Three
George

We all looked at him. We couldn’t help it. Danny suddenly speaking had taken us all by surprise.

‘George?’ Paula and I chorused together.

‘Who’s George?’ Lucy asked.

‘George,’ Danny repeated. ‘George. George.’

‘Tell me who George is,’ I said, ‘and I can help you.’

Danny stared around the room and then towards the kitchen as though he was looking for something or someone. ‘George,’ he said again, louder. ‘George!’

‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked, trying to make eye contact with him.

But he didn’t look at me or reply. He was staring around searchingly, clearly looking for something, but what or who? He was also growing increasingly anxious in his demands for George. ‘George! George!’

‘Is George a person?’ I asked him.

He didn’t reply.

‘A toy, maybe?’ I suggested. ‘Is George a toy in your holdall?’ I was envisaging a favourite toy packed by his mother that went everywhere with Danny and he couldn’t be separated from. But Danny shook his head vigorously.

‘George!’ he shouted again. Sliding off his chair, he ran into the kitchen and to the back door. I went after him.

‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked again.

‘George!’ he said, facing the back door as though George could be outside. ‘George! George!’ Danny was very agitated now and close to tears.

‘Danny, there’s no one out there, love,’ I said, going up to him. ‘George isn’t out there. Tell me who George is and I can help you.’

Danny turned from the door and looked around him, bewildered. Then he threw himself onto the floor, face down, and began sobbing and beating the tiles with his fists and feet. I knelt beside him and placed my hand lightly on his arm, but he wriggled out of reach and sobbed louder. Adrian, Paula and Lucy had fallen silent at the table and were looking at him, very worried.

‘George!’ Danny cried at the top of his voice as if he thought George might be able to hear him. ‘George!’

‘Danny, calm down,’ I said, staying close to him. ‘I’ll do what I can to find George.’

But he didn’t calm down; he continued sobbing loudly, crying out for George and beating the floor as his upset began to escalate into a tantrum. Sometimes, when a young child has a tantrum, holding them close and soothing them can ease them out of it, while older children often have to work through it before they can be held. Danny was so little and vulnerable my instinct was to pick him up, but given his resistance to physical contact I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.

‘Danny,’ I said, lightly touching his arm again, ‘can you tell me who George is?’

There was a small pause before he cried, ‘No!’ and thrashed around on the floor even more.

‘I can’t help you unless I know what it is you want,’ I said more firmly.

‘George!’ Danny yelled at the top of his voice.

At that moment Toscha, our rather lazy cat, perhaps intrigued by the commotion going on indoors, leapt in through the cat flap. Danny suddenly fell quiet – from shock, I think – and, sitting bolt upright, stared at Toscha. She threw him a disparaging glance and then sauntered over to her food bowl.

‘Not George!’ Danny cried, pointing to Toscha.

‘No. That’s Toscha, our cat,’ I said.

‘Not George!’ Danny cried again as though it was her fault.

‘No, our cat,’ I repeated. Danny got onto all fours and crawled to the cat flap and pushed it open.

‘Is there something you want to see outside?’ I asked.

Danny nodded vigorously.

‘Can you bring me Danny’s coat and shoes, please?’ I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula. I was wearing slippers, but Danny only had on his socks. Paula stood and went into the hall for Danny’s shoes while Lucy unhooked his coat from the chair and brought it to me.

‘Thank you,’ I said with a reassuring smile.

Danny was calmer now he knew he was going outside, although what he expected to find out there I’d no idea – I could foresee another tantrum when he was disappointed.

‘Do you want me to get your coat, Mum?’ Paula asked, arriving with Danny’s shoes.

‘No thanks, love. We won’t be out there for long. It’s cold.’

I set Danny’s shoes on the floor beside him. ‘Shall I put them on for you or do you want to do it?’ He took first one and then the other, quickly stuffing his foot in and doing up the Velcro. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now stand up and put your coat on.’ I held his coat out ready for him. There was a moment’s pause, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, and then he slipped his arms into each of the sleeves and drew his coat around him.

‘I want you to hold my hand when we go out into the garden,’ I said to him. ‘It’s dark and there’s a step outside. I don’t want you falling.’ Also, not knowing what Danny wanted to do in the garden, I was concerned he might be thinking of running off and hiding again as he had done at school.

Danny didn’t offer me his hand, so I repeated that he needed to hold my hand before we went into the garden. After another pause he did as I’d asked. ‘Good boy,’ I said, taking every opportunity to praise him.

I opened the back door. The light from the kitchen shone out illuminating the step, and I helped him over it. Once outside Danny began looking around again anxiously. ‘George?’ he asked. ‘Where George?’

‘I don’t think we’re going to find George here,’ I said gently.

‘George,’ Danny repeated. Still holding my hand, he led me round the back where we stood on the patio facing the house. He pointed to the wall beneath the kitchen window. ‘George?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘George?’

‘Did you think George would be here?’ I asked him. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry, love, he’s not. I expect he’s at your house. Who is George?’

Danny opened his mouth as if to answer, but it was as though he couldn’t find the right word, so he said something else instead – ‘George needs dinner’ – and his eyes filled with tears.

Then it dawned on me. ‘Is George an animal?’ I asked.

Danny gave a very small nod.

‘Is George your pet who lives outside?’

Danny nodded. ‘George needs feeding.’

‘I expect your mother has given George his dinner,’ I reassured him. ‘What type of animal is George?’

Danny looked around, bemused, apparently unable to find the right word.

‘Does George live in a cage?’ I asked, narrowing down the possibilities.

Danny nodded.

‘Is he a rabbit?’

Danny turned to me, and for the first time since I’d collected him from school and brought him home he made eye contact. ‘Yes. George Danny’s best friend,’ he said so sadly I could have wept.

‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘I understand. Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.’

Danny still had his hand in mine and he slowly turned away from the place where he thought George would be. He looked lost and utterly defeated as he allowed me to lead him back indoors.

Danny’s assumption that George had come with him to live with us was, I felt, logical for a child of six. Danny had come to stay, so why shouldn’t his beloved pet and best friend have come too? It would have helped Danny if his mother or his social worker had explained to him more fully about coming into care – or perhaps they had, for I was realizing that Danny was a child with very special needs who not only had difficulty with language but seemed to have great difficulty processing information as well. I wondered if he’d been assessed.

Danny appeared slightly dazed by what had happened and let me help him out of his coat and shoes without protest. Paula took them into the hall. He was too preoccupied with George’s absence to notice that his coat had gone to hang with ours on the coat stand. I explained to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that George was Danny’s much-loved pet rabbit, which he had hoped had come with him. I could see from their expressions that they were as moved as I was by Danny’s upset, for they appreciated the bond that existed between pets and their owners from having Toscha with us for so many years.

‘Come on, Danny,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and sit down and I’ll try to explain what’s going on.’

I took him into the living room where I asked him to sit on the sofa. He clambered on and I sat next to him, close but not touching, which, to a child such as Danny who wasn’t naturally tactile, could have felt threatening and like an invasion of his personal space.

‘No George?’ he asked sadly, without looking at me.

‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house, safe and warm. I’m sure your mother will have given him his dinner.’

Danny shook his head and tried to say something, but nothing came out.

‘Do you usually feed George?’ I asked him.

He nodded.

‘After you’ve had your dinner?’ I asked. From the way Danny had left the table and started looking for George as soon as he’d finished his dinner, I thought it was probably a routine.

He nodded again.

‘Danny, I need you to listen carefully to what I am going to tell you. My name is Cathy and I’m a foster carer. I look after children to help their parents. You’ll still see your mummy and daddy, and you’ll be going to school as normal. But you are going to live with me for a while. Your mummy and daddy love you, and George loves you too. You mustn’t worry about any of them. They are all safe.’ I’d no idea what Danny understood about coming to live with me, but I knew from experience that many children who came into care fretted and worried that something dreadful had happened to their parents and any loved ones they’d left behind. Once they’d seen them again at contact they were usually reassured. ‘Your mummy and daddy are safe at home, and George is safe in his hutch,’ I said.

‘George here,’ Danny said.

‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house.’

‘George here,’ Danny repeated, growing anxious again. I was puzzled that he was still asking as clearly he’d seen for himself that George’s hutch wasn’t outside.

‘No, love. George is at your house,’ I said again.

‘No! George here!’ Danny cried more insistently. It was then I realized that ‘George here’ now meant something different and was no longer a question.

‘You want George here?’ I asked.

He nodded.

‘I understand.’

This was a difficult one, because pets don’t usually accompany a child into care. Reasons for this include that it isn’t always practical, members of the foster family may have allergies to animal fur, the animal might be unsafe (this usually applies to dogs), or the parent(s) might not want the pet to go with the child, which is understandable as they can be as attached to it as the child. But this was a little rabbit we were talking about that lived in a hutch outside. None of us were allergic to fur and I didn’t mind pets, so I decided not to immediately rule out the possibility of George coming to stay with us, but neither was I going to give Danny false hope.

‘I’ll talk to your mother about George when I see her tomorrow at school,’ I said to Danny.

‘Need George,’ Danny said despondently with his head down. I felt so sorry for him.

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘We’ll see what your mother says tomorrow.’

This was the best I could offer and it seemed to reassure Danny a little, for he climbed off the sofa and went over to the games and puzzles that were still laid out on the floor. Kneeling down, he began to play with the Lego. I was pleased; this was a good sign. When a child feels relaxed enough to play it shows they are less anxious and starting to settle in.

However, as I watched Danny picking the Lego bricks out of the box and laying them on the floor, I saw that he wasn’t using them to build a house or car or any other object; he was arranging them end to end in a line. After a few minutes it was clear he was creating a multicoloured line of bricks, and I saw a pattern emerging from the different brick sizes and colours he was using: large white, small pink, large yellow, small red, blue, green, etc. I watched, impressed, as he concentrated hard and carefully selected each brick from the box and added it to the line. When the pattern had repeated three times he placed a large blue brick at right angles to the previous red brick to turn the corner, then added a green one at right angles to that and started creating a second line running parallel to the first with an identical repeating pattern. I’d never seen a child use Lego like this before, so intricate and precise. Maintaining the pattern he completed a third and then a fourth line, then halfway through the fifth line he ran out of red and blue bricks. He looked at the house Paula had previously built, which was an arbitrary arrangement of red, yellow and blue bricks.

I immediately realized what Danny wanted and called through to Paula, who was still at the dining table talking to Adrian and Lucy. ‘Is it all right if Danny breaks up your Lego house so he can use the bricks?’ I didn’t think she’d mind, but it seemed right to ask her.