by Cathy Glass
The front door opened and then slammed shut. Terri returned to the living room. She looked worried but was calm. I guessed as a social worker she’d had far worse situations to deal with.
‘I’ll phone her later,’ she said stoically, returning to her seat. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t aware of this new development.’
Ray nodded. ‘Can you telephone me when you’ve spoken to the parents.’
‘Yes,’ Terri said.
The rest of us were quiet, shaken by Reva’s disclosure and sudden departure.
Ray took a breath and moved the meeting on by asking Sue for the school’s report. Sue was as positive as she could be and said that academically and socially Danny was making steady but slow progress, and she hoped a referral to the educational psychologist could be made soon. She read out some recent test results, which highlighted just how far behind his peers Danny was. Ray asked her if she felt Danny would benefit from going to a special school. She said she thought he might, although of course it would need the educational psychologist to make that recommendation, and then the funding would have to be found, all of which would take at least a year. Sue explained how she adapted the class’s work to suit Danny and showed us a piece of his written work. She mentioned the home school book and said that everything was being done to help Danny academically as well as socially. She concluded by saying that Danny was always in school on time and had a good relationship with his teaching assistants.
Ray thanked her and then asked Terri for her input. Given that the care plan was now in tatters, there wasn’t an awful lot Terri could say. She confirmed that Danny had come into care at the request of his parents largely because Reva wasn’t coping, and said she still hadn’t met with Richard despite repeated requests to do so. She said that even before Reva’s comments about whether Danny could go home, she and her manager had concerns over whether this could be achieved, at least in the proposed time scale. She said she felt there was a lack of attachment and that Richard appeared to have rejected Danny from an early age.
‘When I return to the office I’ll arrange a meeting with my manager,’ Terri said. ‘I’m not prepared to leave Danny in limbo while his parents decide if they want him back or not.’ I could see Terri was annoyed, and understandably so.
Ray finished writing and looked at Terri. ‘And you’ll give me an update on what you decide after you’ve spoken to your manager, please,’ he said.
‘Yes, of course,’ Terri said.
Ray then asked Jill to speak.
‘I’ll keep it short,’ she said. ‘As Cathy’s supervising social worker I’m in regular contact with Cathy and I also observe her with Danny. She is a very experienced and well-qualified foster carer and is providing a high level of care for Danny. I have no concerns.’
Ray nodded and thanked her. This was all Jill had to say, as the other issues relating to Danny had already been covered in the review. Ray then began summing up the decisions of the review: that the care plan would be reviewed; Danny would start swimming lessons at school; Reva would consider telephone contact with Danny, and Terri would look into arranging for me to meet with the educational psychologist or CAMHS, as well as referring Danny to the educational psychologist for an assessment. Before Ray closed the meeting he set a date for the next review in three months’ time.
‘Hopefully it won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘And Danny will have returned home to his parents.’ But I think we all knew that was wishful thinking.
Chapter Twenty-Two
No Cavity Club
I didn’t ask Danny if I could buy a run for George as Reva had said I should, because as a responsible adult, and knowing Danny, I felt it was a decision I could reasonably make. I explained to Danny how it would be kinder to George and I involved him in the planning and took him with me to buy the run. Paula came too, and I had difficulty persuading her to leave the pet shop without one of the cuddly rabbits, hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils or other cute small animals they had for sale. Once home, Adrian helped to assemble the run on the lawn, and from then on, when the weather allowed, George spent most of the day outside. Danny still took him for walks in the garden or brought him indoors if it was raining, but George was out in his run more than he was cooped up in his hutch; nibbling grass, running around or just sitting contentedly with his nose twitching in the air as he took in the different sights and sounds – a very happy bunny. He was pleased, and so was I.
Toscha and George continued to advance their friendship outdoors as well as in and sniffed each other, nose to nose, through the wire mesh of the run. Sometimes Toscha would sit pressed against the outside of the run – as close to George as she could get – and I guessed she was becoming as attached to him as we were.
Danny began swimming lessons at school the week after the review. Yvonne went in the water with him, but even so, that first lesson he was very anxious and only stayed in the water ten minutes before he began to show signs of stress. Yvonne and I agreed that this wasn’t surprising, as the swimming pool was a whole new experience for Danny, and was very intense with the sound echoing, light bouncing off the water and the swimming teacher issuing instructions in a loud voice to the whole class. The following week Danny stayed in the water for fifteen minutes and by the end of March he was managing twenty, but Yvonne didn’t extend it beyond twenty minutes as she allowed time for him to change in peace and quiet and at his own speed, before the rest of the class arrived in the changing room with their lively chatter and constant movement.
On the last Sunday in March I invited my parents to dinner again. Adrian, Lucy, Paula and I had been seeing them on Saturdays when Danny was on all-day contact, but I wanted to include Danny in as many family occasions as possible. This wasn’t only to broaden his experience; it was also important that he got to know my parents, as it appeared he would be staying with us for some time – possibly for good, if he didn’t return home and the social services decided it was the right place for him to be.
I began preparing him for their visit on Friday evening, by telling him that they were coming for Sunday lunch and what that involved. As far as I knew Danny had no experience of grandparents or their role apart from my parents’ disastrous first visit. Reva’s parents lived a long way away, and Terri had said that Richard never took Danny to see his parents. I explained in simple language to Danny my parents’ relationship to me, where they lived, why we loved them so much and liked to see them regularly. On Saturday evening, after Danny had returned from contact and had seen to George, I explained to him in more detail what would happen when my parents arrived the following day: how they would ring the doorbell, come in and take off their coats and shoes, sit in the living room chatting with us, have dinner and then maybe play board games or card games with us in the afternoon. I told him much of this while he was getting ready for bed as I’d found before this was a good time to explain things in detail. It seemed that while he was occupied with the routine of washing and changing he was more relaxed and receptive to what I was saying. I concluded in his bedroom by pointing out Sunday on the calendar on his wall.
‘They are coming tomorrow,’ I said. ‘The next day. One more sleep.’
‘That’s good,’ he said, although I didn’t read much into this as it had been his favourite phrase for the last few days.
Although Danny was as well prepared for my parents’ visit as he could have been, he still hid behind the sofa when the doorbell rang. My heart sank. Thankfully he came out after about five minutes and began pushing one of his toy cars around the living room while making a low humming noise, which I knew he found comforting. He didn’t want us to play with him, although we asked, and when my parents tried to initiate conversation with him – by asking him about school or George – he didn’t reply, but just shook his head. They understood he wasn’t being rude.
‘It’ll take him time to get to know us,’ Mum said to Dad so Danny could hear. ‘But I’m pleased Danny is able to play in the same room as us. I think that�
�s wonderful.’
Dad agreed. I knew that Danny had heard their positive comments, although he didn’t show it or reply.
Danny ate with us at the table, and we stayed at the table chatting quietly while he finished. But in the afternoon I began to see the tell-tale signs that suggested he was becoming overloaded and could be heading for a meltdown – windmilling his arms and looking slightly spaced out, and a small tic that sometimes developed by his eye. I told him we’d go into the front room for a while where it was quiet, and I’d read him a story. I offered him my hand and he came with me without a fuss. I read a couple of short stories and then Paula came in and said she would read to Danny so that I could go back into the living room. Danny didn’t want to re-join us, so Lucy and Adrian also took turns to be with him, ensuring that unlike at my parents’ previous visit I was able to spend time with them in the living room. When my parents were due to go Danny was still in the front room and didn’t want to come out to say goodbye, so they called to him from the hall.
‘Goodbye, Danny. We’ve had a nice day,’ Mum said.
‘See you again soon,’ Dad added.
Once they’d gone Danny came out and I told him he’d done well, which he had.
‘That’s good,’ he said, pleased.
I must admit it hadn’t been the most relaxing day for me, as I’d been on alert for any sign that Danny’s behaviour could deteriorate, but it had passed pleasantly and next time they came it would be a little easier still, until hopefully Danny would eventually be able to join in and enjoy my parents’ visits as much as we did.
Continuing with my policy of broadening Danny’s horizons through new experiences, the following Sunday I took him in the car to a park that had a café. He’d never eaten out socially with his parents and I thought this was a good place to start, as it was child-friendly and didn’t have tablecloths or delicate flower centrepieces, which can lead to disaster for any parent. I explained to him beforehand where we were going, but when we got to the door of the café he stopped dead and couldn’t go in. I took him to one side to stand in front of the bow window where we could see in below the café-style net curtains. I pointed out the tables and chairs and explained how the adults and children sitting at them were having something to eat and drink, which they were enjoying, and then when they’d finished they would leave and go home. None of which would be obvious to Danny. Goodness knows what those inside thought, seeing two faces peering in at them. But Danny was still reluctant to go in.
‘We’ll go inside and try it,’ I said positively. ‘If it’s too noisy or hot we can come out and try again another time.’ For I didn’t want Danny thinking that if he refused to try something once that was the end of it.
He let me take his hand and we went in, up to the self-service counter. I took a tray and asked him what he would like to drink, and then read out the options from the menu on the wall. But he shook his head and began rocking anxiously on his heels.
‘Don’t worry. Would you like a hot drink or a cold drink?’
‘Hot,’ he said. Then, ‘Chocolate.’
‘Excellent.’ He always liked that drink at home with me. I gave our order to the assistant behind the counter. Then Danny pointed to a slice of pre-wrapped Battenberg cake.
‘That’s good,’ he said.
I smiled. I knew why he’d been drawn to that particular cake. Battenberg sponge has a distinctive pink-and-yellow chequered pattern. I placed the cake on the tray, took a plate and a knife and ordered a cappuccino for myself. Having paid, I carried the tray to a table. Danny looked anxiously around as we sat. It was quite noisy from the hum of voices and I wondered if he would cope, but the Battenberg diverted his attention. Very meticulously he peeled off the Cellophane wrapper and set it carefully to one side. Then, taking the knife, he began dissecting the cake, first into the different-coloured squares, and then he cut those squares into quarters. Finally he created a new pattern of yellow and pink sponge pieces before he began eating them. By the time he got around to drinking his hot chocolate it was cold, but he still enjoyed it. Danny seemed to prefer cold to hot, in food as well as drink. As we left I praised him; he’d coped well with another new experience. I said we’d come again another day if he’d like to.
‘That’s good,’ he said.
What wasn’t so good was our visit to Yew Lodge Clinic for Danny’s medical. I’d taken children to similar clinics before, so I knew more or less what to expect and I explained to Danny what would happen. But when we arrived he refused to go in, perhaps remembering a previous visit with his mother, I don’t know. I reassured him that there was nothing to worry about and I would be with him. Then I added that he needed to be quick as George would be waiting for his walk, and this swung it.
Fortunately we didn’t have to wait long to see the paediatrician, Dr Holly Green. She was a lovely lady and couldn’t have been more reassuring and patient with Danny, but he needed persuading and cajoling at every stage: to stand on the scales and be weighed – I had to stand on them first; to be measured – he didn’t like the feel of the bar on his head, and I had to be measured first; and when she took a stethoscope from her desk drawer, despite explaining to Danny what it was for and letting him play with it first, he refused to undo his shirt.
‘Just undo a few buttons then,’ she said. Danny shook his head.
‘Choose two buttons to undo,’ I said. ‘Which two do you want?’ He looked down and pointed. ‘Good. Can you undo them or do you want my help?’
He undid them.
As Dr Green placed the end of the stethoscope on Danny’s chest it must have felt cold, for he shrieked and hid under the couch. I persuaded him out by reminding him that George was waiting for a walk, and then told him to choose a place in the room to stand or sit where the doctor could listen to his chest. He chose the doctor’s chair and sat in it long enough for her to listen to his heart and lungs.
‘Good boy,’ I said.
‘Well done, Danny,’ she said.
Dr Green returned the stethoscope to her desk drawer and took out an otoscope, showed it to Danny and explained that she was going to look in his ears. It took three attempts, but she was able to see enough of both ears to pronounce them clear. It had taken over half an hour to carry out these simple checks. The doctor now sat at her desk and I sat in the chair next to the desk as she asked me some questions about Danny’s diet, his general health and if he slept well. Danny stood beside me flapping his arms and making a low humming noise. Dr Green hadn’t met Danny before, but she knew from his notes he had special needs. She concluded by saying he was healthy, although he was at the lower end of normal on the charts for height and weight, which I already knew. I asked her to send a copy of her report to the social services and to Danny’s parents as well as myself, which was normal practice.
Danny’s appointment to see the dentist was two days later, and it turned out to be the same dentist he’d seen with his mother. Both remembered their previous encounter, as did the nurse, and it hadn’t been a good experience. Danny took one look at the dentist – ‘Call me Tim’ – and hid under the chair. Tim – young, fresh-faced and I guessed not long qualified – visibly paled and then asked who I was. I explained I was Danny’s foster carer and that the social services had asked for Danny to have a dental check-up, as he was overdue for one. Tim clearly didn’t know how to progress, so I said I’d found in the past with other children I’d fostered who hadn’t liked coming to the dentist that if they could sit on an ordinary chair rather than lie on the dentist’s chair it often helped. He nodded enthusiastically, clearly eager to try anything, and the nurse drew up the spare chair the parent usually sat on and placed it within reach of the instruments. I sat on the edge of the dentist’s chair. Danny was still underneath.
‘Come on, Danny,’ I said. ‘Sit on the chair and we’ll have our teeth looked at together.’
There was silence from under the couch and then he was intrigued enough to look out.
‘
Come on, quick,’ I said, patting the chair. ‘Or we’ll miss our turn, and Tim will have to see another person. We don’t want that, do we?’ I find that suggesting something is sought-after and shouldn’t be missed is another useful piece of child psychology.
Danny slowly emerged from under the couch and I noticed there was a little impish grin in his eyes, making me think that some of his resistance might be a game to him, and not all trauma. He sat on the chair. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now I’m going to open my mouth wide so the dentist can look at my teeth.’ I opened my mouth so it formed a large O.
Watching someone open their mouth wide as I was doing is like watching someone yawn – you can’t help but follow – and children are very susceptible to suggestion. Danny opened his mouth for as long as it took Tim to place the mouth mirror inside, and then he snapped it closed again.
‘Ouch,’ Tim said.
‘Nice big wide open mouth,’ I said, opening my mouth again. Danny followed suit. And as long as I kept my mouth open, so did he. Thankfully the examination didn’t last too long.
‘His teeth are excellent,’ Tim pronounced.
‘That’s good,’ I said.
‘That’s good,’ Danny repeated.
‘Well done,’ the nurse said.
I wasn’t surprised Danny’s teeth were in good condition; he loved brushing them and did so thoroughly as part of his morning and evening routine. The nurse gave Danny a sticker and told him he’d done well. Then Tim said he thought I should have one too, so we left proudly sporting a sticker each showing a picture of a large molar with a smiling face and the heading: Member of the No Cavity Club. Danny wore his for two weeks until it lost its stickiness, when he placed it safely in a drawer in his bedroom. I took mine off that evening.
