by Cathy Glass
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.
