A Dark Secret
Page 22
And sometimes that’s it. That’s the final and only contact. You hear things, of course; bits and bobs filter down the grapevine. And as link workers and social workers know their foster carers appreciate it, they often pass on bits of news that they think we’d like to know. And sometimes the children themselves send cards or letters.
But it was rare that you had the chance to meet up with a child, and their new carers, face-to-face.
So you can imagine my joy that, with Sam, I got to do exactly that, at a big fostering event in late summer. It was a big annual party, which Mike and I sometimes, but not always, went to, held in the grounds of a mansion in the local countryside.
It was a sort of harvest festival, for foster carers and their families, where lots of fruit and vegetables were donated (we were all encouraged to ‘bring a box’) to be packed up later and distributed to the elderly. But with the added bonus of various outdoor games and competitions, and a concert, in which many of the attending children performed, having rehearsed for the big day for several weeks.
Ty wasn’t interested in ‘totes embarrassing’ himself on any stage, let alone on an enormous one with a ‘zillion rug rats’ (‘Mum, I’m nearly seventeen now, remember?’), and since we didn’t have another child in at the time, we weren’t involved in all that. But we still decided to come along, with Tyler in tow, not least because there was also a free lunch. (So don’t believe what they tell you about them not existing.)
After a lovely stroll around the vast gardens, we had made our way to the drawing room inside the mansion, so we were in time to grab some good seats for the concert.
Needless to say, being the softie I am, I was immediately tearful. Not just because the children were all so sweet, which of course they were, but because they were foster children – kids who, for one reason or other, had been dealt such a bad hand, and now here they were, reciting poems, singing songs and giving thanks for the harvest. I mean, how could anyone not be moved to tears?
And then a particular group came on. On they marched, all dressed in black, with felt autumn leaves safety-pinned all over them (someone must have worked very hard, I thought, to get that many cut out), about twenty of them in all, cute as buttons.
Then they launched into song.
‘Awww,’ I whispered to Mike and Tyler, ‘I just love this one.’
I did too. It was a classic. My own two had sung it in primary school, and my grandkids sang it too, now. It was, far and away, my favourite harvest song ever.
Ty rolled his eyes. ‘Aren’t you sick of hearing it?’ Mike whispered.
‘Hush!’
But then it was me being hushed, as a slender boy stepped forward, hair down to his shoulders and huge pale blue eyes.
It was Sam. Doing his solo.
‘The apples are green …’ he sang. ‘The plums are red … The broad beans are sleeping in their blankety beds …’
It wasn’t till he’d finished, and stepped back in line, that he saw us. And then he waved, a little shyly, as they finished and trooped off. And then, fifteen minutes later, dragging a bemused-looking thirty-something woman by the hand, Sam came to find us.
‘Casey, Casey!’ he trilled. ‘Debbie, this is my mummy Casey. And Mike, and Tyler. Did you see? I got all the words right! Superstar!’
‘And now a singing star as well, kiddo,’ Mike told him, laughing.
‘No, a rock star,’ Tyler corrected him. ‘Way cooler.’
Introductions were made, and greetings exchanged, and we finally got to meet a rather bemused Will and Courtney, who were, to my delight, really the spit of their big brother. And as the children trotted off to play we had the chance for a catch-up, in which we heard that, so far, all was going well. Sam was in a new school – the same as his younger brother and sister, and which had an excellent special needs department to support the challenges of his autism. He was just about to return, to his new Year 5 class.
‘And as Colin might have told you,’ Debbie said, ‘the wheels are finally turning. Fingers crossed, by this time next year, it’ll all be done and dusted.’
‘What will?’ I asked.
‘The adoption. Didn’t you know?’
No,’ I said. ‘I mean, that’s brilliant news. But, no, no, I didn’t.’
Then, seeing Mike’s face, and Ty’s face, and to the astonishment of Debbie (who must have thought I was mad), I burst out laughing.
Because, honestly, what else can you do?
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