by Tom Butler
There was to be no shortage in offers of help from all conceivable angles with the Fostering Agency at the forefront, looking to give the children the stability and love required, and though she was now back in the States, Jaclyn was heavily involved in the process with letters and phone calls to and fro across the Atlantic with her express wish for her nephews and niece’s future to be given top priority. All of this took time of course, and there was likely to be some inevitable disruption to the children’s schooling. When the six weeks’ summer holidays arrived, they were bound to be nothing like they had ever been before, now that the family element was gone, therefore finding suitable replacement parents became ever more crucial in the eyes of those making all the major decisions, and that meant the pressure was on.
On a pretty dull day in early August, the Swan siblings arrived at the Wilkinson’s house in Appleby Magna, a similar sized village to Thurston with new housing developments but approximately eight miles away. Tears had formed in the corners of Mary’s eyes as they earlier passed a signpost to Thurston, and James, quick to spot them, had fought away a few of his own.
‘Don’t cry sis; we’ll always be here for you,’ he had said, looking over at Noah for visual support he was never likely to get. ‘I promise, and I never break a promise.’
James was instinctively watching over his sister like his life depended upon it, but Noah was in an elongated sulk which had begun a few days ago when he first learned of the proposed move. He had accepted it grudgingly, promising to “see how it went” for a trial period following two previous visits to the Wilkinson’s home where they had all been made to feel very welcome.
But despite the collective efforts of June and Stuart Wilkinson and their ten-year-old daughter Della, things did not run smoothly, and it became apparent very quickly the Swans would not settle there.
Rather like a puppy Noah pined for Ashley who he had wished he could have adopted as an unofficial brother. He clashed venomously with Della who was overheard calling him a “Dickhead” which upset her parents and unsettled James and Mary. There was soon an atmosphere of disharmony and hostility, and the normally placid June Wilkinson admitted to her equally placid husband that taking on three disturbed children with issues was perhaps a challenge too far. This was quickly relayed back to social services and almost immediately alternative arrangements were being made.
A week later, after rapid consultations, another foster home nearer the city centre in Groby was found. And so the Wilkinson’s were superseded by the Proudlock clan consisting of mother Sylvia, father Phillip, son Luke and daughter Clare who lived in a larger, older, traditionally styled house close to a main road which meant a significant change from the comparable serenity of village life.
There was a reassuringly homely look about Sylvia Proudlock, and no one could accuse her of ever shirking the weight of responsibility on her broad shoulders. She was, on a good day a size fourteen, though she seemed to have more bad days when trying on clothes on the High Street. A friendly, freckled face lay below flaming red hair, and her green eyes were permanently bright. She was early forties, well spoken, strong minded. A modern mother with a non-stressful part time job who loved running her home and interacting with her children. And a suitable candidate for fostering if ever there was.
Similarly, her husband Phillip, a self-employed carpenter, ticked many of the boxes too, showing himself off to be a well-motivated, skilled craftsman with the ability to juggle his work commitments so that his wife got all the support she needed. A point scorer if ever there was, but there was still a lot of crossing of fingers.
Immediately, and significantly Mary hit it off with Clare who despite being two years older, seemed very much to like the same things, and remarkably quickly, the sound of giggling was echoing around the Proudlock house which was encouraging. Mary then made James smile with a humorous observation as she and her siblings then found time and space for a huddle.
‘Clare’s mother talks a bit posh, don’t you think. Do you think she’ll have us talking that way too?’ she asked.
‘Over my dead body,’ Noah interrupted, stirring himself from a trance like state. ‘She’s just putting it on for our benefit. I’ll talk to all of them as I see fit. I won’t be putting on a voice just to make them happy. And neither should any of us. Posh, indeed, stuck up more like.’
From James’ point of view, it was a relief that Noah was at least opening and shutting his mouth again, instead of imitating the proverbial spoilt brat and virtually saying nothing worthwhile.
‘We won’t have to change one bit. They’ll accept us as we are,’ James presumed.
‘Well, they won’t like Noah swearing like he does when he doesn’t get his own way. Or when he drops a stinky one,’ Mary giggled.
James giggled at Noah’s expense and pinched his nose in mockery.
‘Phew, they’ll need to wear masks,’ he said as his sister bent double with laughter.
Noah, for once, saw the funny side.
‘I bet any money your new pal Clare’s trumps are worse,’ he guffawed. ‘I bet she does the smelliest ones for miles but blames them on her mates.’
All three embarked on uncontrollable laughter. It was such a change from all the seriousness and sulking that had gone on before.
Mary’s brain was working overtime.
‘Remember when Nanny Swan did one on Christmas day, and I nearly fell off my chair,’ she hysterically recalled.
‘God, how loud was that?’ Noah suddenly remembered.
‘Perhaps when we are that old we’ll be that loud too,’ James joined in.
‘Loud and smelly too,’ Mary blubbered, her eyes filling up with a different kind of tears. Not sad one’s anymore. Tears of laughter.
Initially things didn’t look too bad through Noah’s eyes, but within a few days he clashed with Luke, reverting back to being disruptive and rebellious again, his behaviour once more upsetting the others. The Proudlock’s along with social workers had been sure that Noah would get on with twelve-year-old Luke who appeared to be fairly typical for boy approaching his teenage years. But Luke was not Ashley. He was a geek in Noah’s eyes, and sharing a bedroom with a geek who was not on his wavelength meant friction and a whole new reason to sulk.
Bidding to become peacemaker, Sylvia Proudlock spoke to both boys individually and got some measure of civility between them which improved matters, but it was her husband who made the biggest inroads into winning over Noah, taking him fishing a couple of times and then pulling off something of a masterstroke by allowing Noah to spend Sundays with Ashley, driving him twenty miles there on the understanding Ashley’s dad would get him home no later than seven in the evening. A brilliant idea in Noah’s book, if only he could have thought about it first. Practically, a whole day each weekend with his best friend. Stupendous.
So things settled, and a new school year began which for Noah meant a daily coach ride to Loughborough High and a seat next to Ashley in class, reuniting them and reigniting their plans for the future again.
It heralded a new start for James and Mary too. Gratifyingly they loved Groby Infants and Junior School, happily travelling there with Clare and quickly making new friends which might have seemed a daunting prospect given the reason they were there and the unfamiliarity of the place.
It had to be said that Mary was no longer the outgoing chatterbox she had been before, but she had hit it off with twin sisters Edie and Helen Hamilton whose mother knew Sylvia on account of fostering children herself.
Likewise, James befriended two boys in his class called Malachi and Vikram and within days the foundations of a flourishing friendship had been laid, tempered only by a wholly obnoxious boy named Grant Lyons and his not so obvious bullying tactics that seemed to slip under the school’s radar.
Physically bigger than the other pupils in year four, Grant thought he had the advantage over the others. It meant he was ace at extracting favours from some of the smaller boys who didn’t have the b
ravado to stand up to him. Chocolate bars, cakes, crisps, and apples mostly, which might have accounted in some way for his rapid growth in size. Then there was pencils and pencil sharpeners and rubbers and rulers. All replaced by gullible parents of course only to be ‘lost’ again in a mysterious black hole that had miraculously appeared in the school playground.
Grant knew all about James. He got a kick out of taunting him. It livened up the tedious school day and made him feel important. James handled it well because the devastating turn of events had toughened him, not even bothering to report Grant for all of the cruel words, posturing and chest beating.
But James did see red when Grant drew a crude diagram of a brutal stabbing on the blackboard with a caption saying ‘Look out, Daddy’s home’. A fight ensued and it was bully Grant who then saw red in the shape of a bloody nose as the whole class cheered James on. It meant a three-day exclusion for James who was adjudged to be the aggressor and a demand from Grant’s inconsolable mother to have him permanently removed whilst claiming her son to be as white as driven snow and a ‘good, fun loving, extremely clever boy’ and then asking, ‘What the hell was the son of a murderer doing in the school in the first place’. A question that the head teacher treated with quiet diplomacy.
Luckily, the rhetoric calmed down and so did Grant’s bullying of others, so James had done everyone a favour despite the upset the fight had caused. Fellow pupils looked at him differently and knew no liberties could be taken, and he suddenly had a plethora of friends, all competing to win his favour. Instead of grudgingly handing over chocolate bars and crisps to ex-bully Grant they were now willingly offering them to James who for a while must have felt like royalty when in truth he probably didn’t much care for being the centre of attention. All he ever wanted was to fit in and be accepted and not be made to feel that he was at all different from other pupils at the school.
Deep down, of course he knew that wasn’t the case. In Malachi and Vikram, he had made two good friends who never once made him feel as if he was disadvantaged or inferior. They were nine-year-old boys on a par each, with many adventures to come. And they were best pals to boot with parents who didn’t once judge James or raise his past in conversation.
It had been a challenging but rewarding time for the Proudlock family, especially Sylvia and Phillip who knew only too well about tragic events and the tears that went with them. Two years ago, they had had to endure the loss of a daughter, struck down by a rare heart disease, which was both heart-breaking and devastating for them and their other children. Chloe would have been a year older than James now, and he would have gotten on with her because she was an out and out tomboy. A tree climbing, bicycle mad, ball-kicking whirlwind of a girl who strode through her days with boundless energy until her heart suddenly failed to keep up with the rest of her because of a disorder that had no known cure and meant, sadly, her days were numbered.
Her death, in some ways, helped the Swan children adjust to their new lives because the Proudlock’s never shied away from talking about Chloe, and there were so many tangible memories of her around the house it gave Noah, James and Mary an affinity that only the death of a close family member could. Understanding that people died, in itself, was a therapy of sorts, certainly for Mary who for a long time had still believed ‘Mummy was just visiting heaven’ and carrying on her angelic duties there until it was time for her to make her much awaited return.
Even Noah saw how the loss of a child must have hurt, and in showing his foster parents a rare helping of compassion, he demonstrated the maturity that had been noticeably lacking before Phillip had worked his magic to win him over and bring him out of his self-induced malaise.
‘I can’t imagine life without my brothers,’ Mary had been heard to say to Clare when a family photo album came out and she had noted how Clare fought away the tears. ‘Sometimes I don’t like them, and Noah, well, he’s horrid to me. And he swears. But if something happened to them…’
Like real sisters might, they held hands for a few seconds before Clare turned the page, and they moved on to another photo.
Could there be anything worse than losing somebody so close. Of course not, and it didn’t bear thinking about. But such thoughts would never go away. They would last a lifetime.
******
Three months after moving to Groby, Aunt Jaclyn and Uncle Hal flew over to pay a short visit to see for themselves how well the children had adjusted to their new lives, and Sylvia was noticeably nervous. She had never made claims or promises, but she wanted so much to make a good impression, and the night before she could barely sleep. A much more relaxed Phillip told her she had nothing to worry about, and as it turned out, she didn’t.
‘We would have gladly taken them to America and given them a new life there,’ Aunt Jaclyn told her, after Sylvia had excelled in the kitchen. ‘We thought long and hard about it, and I truly believe they would have loved it out there. Maybe, one day, when they’re older. Life in America is so much different to over here. We have every intention of getting them over for an extended holiday, maybe next year.’
Sylvia made no comment. A trip to America did seem a lovely idea but she found herself doubting Aunt Jaclyn’s sincerity.
Looking around the dining room where they sat drinking coffee and taking in as much as possible, Aunt Jaclyn said, ‘You have a lovely home here, and it seems close to everywhere. From what I’ve been told over the phone, the children have settled in well. My biggest worry was Noah because behind all of the pent up anger, there’s such a sensitive child. Just because he’s the oldest, doesn’t mean he’s better equipped to cope. You must remember he was very close to his father, so it must be hard for him to accept what he did,’ she paused. ‘But from all accounts he’s settled in here, so it goes without saying that you and your husband must be doing something right.’
The patronising tone grated on Sylvia. She forced herself to smile and allowed Aunt Jaclyn to continue.
‘Mary is the cutest, most adorable child I know, and considering what she’s had to contend with, she’s got through it well. So clever, and artistic just like…’ she stopped to wipe a tear away. ‘My sister was…very creative.’
‘It’s a great legacy to pass on,’ Sylvia said, breaking her silence.
‘Yes,’ Aunt Jaclyn agreed.
It was a sad moment in an otherwise upbeat visit. They briefly held hands. There was still one child left for Aunt Jaclyn to sing the praises of, James.
‘Well, where do I start.’ Her eyes shone. ‘He’s so intelligent and sensible for his age. So caring. A charming boy. I have to pinch myself sometimes to remember he’s still a child. The way he’s handled things. The way he’s conducted himself.’ She didn’t stop there, and Sylvia began to suspect favouritism.
‘They are fantastic children,’ Sylvia said, after waiting for Aunt Jaclyn to finish. ‘We simply love having them here.’
Out in the garden, the children were playing, and Hal was telling Phillip about the many acres of land they had attached to their house back in the States without trying to make his host feel too envious.
Phillip drew a picture in his mind of a ranch style house with a long veranda, picket fences, fields of lush grass and rolling hills beyond. Nothing remotely like Groby at all.
‘We both like to ride, so we needed plenty of room for a stable and paddock,’ Hal told him. ‘Most of our neighbours ride too, so you can imagine how we spend weekends and the long hot evenings over the summer months,’ he elaborated. ‘Jaclyn is a superb rider, and she once came third in the final of the Inter-States long distant cross country in Arizona. I consider myself an accomplished rider, but she’s something else altogether, but please don’t tell her I said so or we’ll never hear the last of it.’
Though appearing to be listening with interest, Phillip was in fact, recoiling. Ever since childhood he had harboured a fear of horses which had extended to the donkeys on Blackpool beach. It sent a shiver down his spine and was something he felt
a little ashamed of especially as Clare had for some time craved a pony of her own like the one a school friend rode out on most weekends.
‘We’ll think about it; it’s a big commitment,’ he told his daughter the last time it was mentioned, secretly hoping it was just a phase she was going through, a sentiment echoed by Sylvia who easily recalled her own thoughts on the subject at such an impressionable age.
It was evident to Hal what a good job the Proudlock’s were doing in looking after Jaclyn’s nephews and niece, and he could see no reason why it shouldn’t become a permanent arrangement. He was a man who was set in his ways, and when Jaclyn had muted her thoughts about taking the children to America, the prospect scared him. Always a supportive husband, he would have bided by any decision she made, but his take on the situation had always been that such young children should stay near places they knew and the friends they had made in spite of the devastation and trauma they must be feeling.
‘You’ve given those kids stability,’ he told Phillip. ‘A good home and barrel load of love. They seem very settled here.’
‘We do what we can, it’s still early days,’ Phillip replied. Size and space wasn’t everything, he thought. It was more important that a house felt warm, reassuring and homely. Creature comforts were important too as were tree houses and trampolines, but ultimately it was love that mattered. An environment like that was worth a million acres of real estate.
Gaining Jaclyn and Hal’s approval was paramount for Sylvia and Phillip, but they were not counting their chickens yet or making rash assumptions. As Phillip had told Hal it was still early days and in two weeks’ time there was further trauma to come in the foster children’s lives, a high profile court case.
Michael Swan had never refuted that he had taken Angelica Swan’s life. There was a signed confession. But his defence lawyers had cited diminished responsibility, and Michael had allowed himself to be manipulated by them and go along with the story of a loving husband and father losing his mind and being turned into a frenzied killer by a wanton act of infidelity by a wife obsessed by a younger man.
