by Cathy Glass
‘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’
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.
