by Cathy Glass
‘Do you know why he does it?’ he asked me.
‘No. Do you?’
He shook his head as Danny jettisoned himself back into the water again. He stayed under for longer this time and when he came up he looked directly at his father and said firmly, ‘Danny drowning,’ as if challenging Richard to say different.
‘No, you’re not drowning,’ I said evenly, as I’d said before when Danny had done this. ‘You’re playing.’
Richard had gone very quiet and his face was set and serious. I wondered if he was going to tell Danny off. I didn’t want such a positive bath-time experience going sour, so I thought it was time to bring it to a close and get Danny out of the bath. ‘Danny, it’s time to dry yourself,’ I said.
Danny threw himself under the water for a third time, staying submerged for as long as he could hold his breath, and then came up spluttering and gave the same challenging look. ‘Danny drowning!’ he said to his father.
He was just going under for a fourth time when Richard suddenly leant forward and, plunging his hands into the water, grabbed Danny and scooped him up. Danny looked surprised but didn’t cry out. I quickly put the towel under his dripping body and Richard wrapped him in it. He then sat cross-legged on the floor with Danny in his lap and cradled him like a baby. ‘You’re not going to drown, Danny,’ Richard said, holding him close. ‘Daddy is saving you.’
Danny looked up questioningly. ‘Daddy saving Danny?’ he asked in a small voice.
‘Yes, I’m saving you,’ Richard said, kissing his forehead. ‘There’s nothing for you to be afraid of any more. I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you, but I will be in the future. I promise you I will.’
Danny stared up at his father thoughtfully, as though he was finding this difficult to believe. ‘Daddy loves Danny?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Yes,’ Richard said, his voice catching. ‘I love you more than you can ever know.’
‘Danny loves Daddy,’ he said. ‘Danny happy.’ He reached up and gently wiped the tear away from his father’s eye. ‘Don’t cry. We’re happy.’
‘I promise you, we will be,’ Richard said. And I knew he meant it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Another Story …
I couldn’t tell Danny that he was going home until Terri telephoned me to confirm that he was, so Danny went to school on Monday morning as usual, and when I collected him I was able to tell him the good news.
‘Danny going home?’ he repeated. ‘Danny going home?’
‘Yes, Mummy and Daddy are coming to collect you from my house in an hour,’ I explained as we walked to the car. ‘I’ve packed all your clothes and toys ready.’
‘George?’ Danny asked, immediately concerned.
‘Yes, of course, George will be going home with you.’
Danny thought for a moment and then asked, ‘In your car?’
I was amazed that Danny had remembered I’d collected George in my car. He hadn’t been part of the process. ‘No. Your daddy is bringing his car and your mummy is bringing her car too. The hutch will go on the back seat of your daddy’s car.’
Danny thought again. ‘Two cars?’
‘Yes. Your mummy’s and daddy’s.’
‘Danny going home,’ he repeated quietly. ‘Danny going home.’
As soon as I’d received Terri’s telephone call to say that Danny was definitely going home that day I’d begun to pack his belongings. They were now all bagged and boxed in the hall. George was in his hutch out the back, sitting on clean hay, and I’d collapsed the run so it would fit in Richard’s car as well. Richard had taken the day off work to bring Danny home. Terri had left it to us to arrange the time of Danny’s departure, and when I’d spoken to Richard and Reva that afternoon I’d asked them to come at 4.30 p.m., after Lucy, Adrian and Paula had arrived home from school, so that they had a chance to say goodbye to Danny. My children knew it was likely Danny would be returning home today, so they weren’t completely surprised when they came in from school to find his luggage in the hall.
‘Danny going home,’ he told each of them as they arrived.
‘Yes. Are you happy?’ Paula asked him.
Danny gave a very small nod. I guessed his leaving was bittersweet for him too.
We assembled in the living room and gave Danny his leaving present – a DVD and a large book on rabbits. It had stories and facts about rabbits and beautiful colour photographs of different rabbits, some of whom were just like George, although none were quite as big as him. We also gave Danny a card with a rabbit on the front and I read out the words we’d written inside.
‘Thank you very much,’ Danny said, clearly pleased.
‘You’re welcome,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome,’ Danny repeated.
We stayed in the living room looking at the pictures of the rabbits in Danny’s book until the doorbell rang at 4.30.
‘Mummy? Daddy?’ Danny asked me, looking up.
‘Yes. They’re here now to take you and George home,’ I said.
Danny came with me down the hall, still clutching his gifts and card. I was pleased he liked them – I thought he would. ‘Look!’ he exclaimed as I opened the door, and he held them up for his parents to see. ‘Presents!’
‘Fantastic,’ Richard said. ‘We’ll look at the film once we’re home.’
As Richard admired the book and DVD, Reva said quietly to me, ‘How was Danny when you told him he was coming home?’
‘Very pleased and excited,’ I said. ‘But it will be strange for him to begin with, even though he’s going home.’
‘Yes, Terri told me to be prepared for a backlash,’ Reva said. ‘She’s coming at the end of the week to see how we’re all getting on.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Just try to relax. No one gets parenting right all the time.’
Terri had advised us to keep the goodbyes short so it wasn’t upsetting for Danny. Adrian, Lucy and Paula came out of the living room and said hello to Reva and Richard. Then Richard said to Danny, ‘Let’s get cracking, Mister. You’ve got a lot of gear here.’
Danny grinned but looked confused. It must have been difficult for him to understand why he was suddenly going home, although I’d done my best to explain. The girls and I helped Reva load her car while Adrian went with Richard and Danny to load George in his hutch into Richard’s car. It took us about fifteen minutes before everything was in. Then Danny clambered into the small back seat of his mother’s sports car – there was no room in Richard’s car – and he sat nestled between his luggage. As we stood on the pavement ready to say goodbye I could see Adrian admiring Reva’s car. Richard must have seen this too, for he said to Adrian, ‘You don’t want one of those, they’re completely impractical.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a chance to find out,’ Adrian returned with a smile, and Richard laughed.
We weren’t saying a final goodbye to Danny, for it had been decided by the social services that I, and my children if they wished, could visit Danny at home once a week for the next month so we didn’t simply disappear from his life. However, Danny was leaving our family, which was a huge loss, and of course we all felt very emotional. When a child has lived with you and been part of your life and you’ve nurtured and cared for them, it’s only natural that you grow to love them. It’s impossible not to. So that when they go – even, as in Danny’s case, when they are returning home – it’s hard. You have to put on a brave face for the sake of the child and wish them well. It was OK to tell Danny we’d miss him, which we had done, but we couldn’t burst into tears. Although, as I looked in through the open passenger door and saw him sitting on the back seat, so small and vulnerable, clutching his presents and cards, I was very close to it.
‘Take care, love,’ I said one last time. ‘You’ve been great. We’ve loved having you stay. You’re a treasure.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Danny said. I felt my bottom lip tremble.
I kissed hi
m, straightened and moved away from the car so that Adrian, Lucy and Paula could say goodbye. Reva closed the car door and before she and Richard got into their cars they both thanked us all for looking after Danny. They hugged the girls and shook Adrian’s hand. Then Richard gave me an extra hug, and I felt the warmth of his sincerity. ‘Thank you for everything, Cathy. It’s very much appreciated.’
‘I’m glad everything worked out for you all,’ I said.
‘Thanks to you,’ he said. Then to my children, ‘Look after your mum. She’s special.’ Which was kind of him, and they smiled.
Richard and Reva got into their cars and started the engines. Richard pulled away first and then Reva followed a moment later. We waved to Danny and he grinned and waved back. We continued waving until they were out of sight, then we slowly returned indoors. No one spoke and the atmosphere was sombre, as it always was after a child left. I usually suggested a small outing or a treat to take our minds off our loss, and I now asked Paula, Adrian and Lucy if – once they’d done their homework – they’d like to go out for something to eat. They agreed, although without a lot of enthusiasm. I said it was better than sitting at home moping, so they went upstairs to get ready. We should have been used to children leaving us by now after so many years of fostering, but I don’t think you ever get used to it. You adjust to the child’s absence and hope that they stay in touch, and even if they don’t you never, ever forget them.
I went into the kitchen mindful that George, whose cage had sat just outside, against the back wall, had also gone. He’d been such a personality and part of our lives that I knew we’d miss him too. No more putting him in his run, seeing him in the garden, clearing up his pellets in the house or hearing him thump when he thought he heard danger. He’d been so good for Danny and without doubt had helped him settle, as well as being a trusted confidant. I put the kettle on to make a coffee and while it boiled I opened my mail, which I hadn’t had time to do that day with all the packing. One of the letters was from CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health services), with the appointment I’d been waiting for; too late for me, but I’d pass it on to Reva and Richard to use. I took my coffee into the living room, where I sat on the sofa and waited for the children to get ready. The room seemed very bare now all Danny’s toys had gone. There’d always been a puzzle or brightly coloured pattern laid out on the floor, often the same pattern for days, subtly altered by Danny from time to time to form a new one. Now the carpet appeared plain and drab.
My parents hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to Danny, for once his rehabilitation home had begun there hadn’t been an opportunity with every day full. I’d thought about trying to squeeze in a quick visit but decided it would be more than Danny could cope with, given everything else that was going on in his life. I’d also considered the possibility of him saying goodbye to my parents over the telephone, but as he’d only used the phone once before, I thought that too could have been unsettling for him. They knew he was being prepared to go home; I’d telephone them now and tell them that the move had gone well, and also arrange to see them the next weekend. Then, when I next saw Danny, I’d pass on their best wishes, which doubtless they’d want me to. However, before I got the chance to make the call, the telephone rang. I reached out and picked up the handset from the corner table. I wasn’t surprised to hear Jill’s voice. She always telephoned just after a child had left to ask if the move had gone well and if we were all right. I told her the move had gone to plan and we were OK. But Jill now asked another question.
‘Cathy, I appreciate Danny has only just left, but could you take a thirteen-year-old girl straightaway? Her present foster carers have said she must leave them this evening. They can’t take any more. We daren’t put her with a new carer. Her behaviour is too volatile and they wouldn’t cope. Could she come to you in an hour or so? Sorry, but we’re desperate.’
My heart sank. Sometimes fostering feels like a production line of desperate social workers trying to find homes for distraught children. ‘Jill, the room isn’t ready yet,’ I said. ‘I haven’t even stripped the bed. And I’ve promised to take Adrian, Paula and Lucy out. Can’t she come tomorrow?’
‘The social worker said the girl’s behaviour was so bad that the carers had given an ultimatum – that the girl had to go by eight o’clock this evening. But I’ll phone the social worker now and tell her that you can definitely take her in the morning. Perhaps the carers will feel they can keep her for one more night if they know there’s an end in sight.’
‘Thank you, Jill.’
I replaced the handset and gazed across the room. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to take a child at very short notice, as an emergency, but that was usually when the child was in imminent danger and had to be removed from home quickly. What would I do if the carers couldn’t be persuaded to keep the girl for one more night? Cancel going out with my family, or stand my ground like they were doing and insist she could come to me in the morning? I appreciated the carers must be at their wits’ end, but I wanted to spend the evening with my children, not dealing with a disturbed teenager, who by the sound of it would need all my attention. Yet to say no would have been unprofessional and no good for the girl or the carers. I finished my coffee and waited for the telephone to ring.
Ten minutes later Jill telephoned again. ‘The carers have agreed to keep Joss for one more night as long as she goes first thing in the morning.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Jill.’
‘No, thank you. Joss has been kicking off big time and has already had a lot of moves. She had a shocking experience as a child and …’
But that’s another story.
Epilogue
I visited Danny every Saturday for the next month. Paula came with me the first time, Adrian the second, Lucy the third and then we all went together for our fourth and final visit. My children were all impressed by the grandeur of Danny’s house, but of course to Danny it was just home – and a much happier home now that he had been accepted for who he was, especially by his father, who was going that extra mile to make up for lost time. On each of our visits we spent some time outside in the garden with George and Danny and also indoors, where Danny showed my children his extensive collection of games, puzzles and toys, while I talked to Reva and Richard.
They told me they were now in regular contact with Richard’s parents, who were fantastic with Danny, which wasn’t surprising given all the years they’d spent looking after Robert and coping with his profound learning disabilities. Richard told me he’d talked to Danny about his step-brother and sister and was planning on taking him along when he next saw them. ‘We’ll make it a short visit to begin with,’ Richard said. ‘So it’s not overwhelming for Danny.’
‘Showing Danny some photographs of your children may help to prepare him,’ I suggested.
‘Yes, I will nearer the time. Terri suggested that too,’ Richard said.
On one of my visits Reva told me that her parents were going to come for the weekend and also that she’d telephoned her sister, whom she hadn’t seen for over two years. They’d had a good chat and Reva had apologized for not keeping in touch, explaining that she and Richard had come through a difficult patch, although she didn’t go into details. She said she and her sister were planning to meet up with the children when the schools broke up for the long summer holiday. ‘I’m sure her kids are still angels,’ Reva said with a smile. ‘But now I feel more confident in managing Danny’s behaviour I’m not so worried. If he does have a tantrum or a meltdown, I’ll just have to take him somewhere quiet until he’s over it. I spent too long worrying about what other people might think. I’m not making the same mistake again.’
Danny didn’t say much during our visits, but he seemed happy enough. Terri was visiting and monitoring the family, although now I was no longer Danny’s foster carer I wouldn’t be given any updates. On our final visit Reva, Richard and Danny waved us off at the door, and it was a poignant moment for
us, knowing that we wouldn’t hear any more about Danny unless his parents stayed in touch.
I didn’t hear anything further from Richard or Reva for about four months, and then I received a letter from Reva with a lovely photograph enclosed of Danny and his father together on a beach, building sandcastles. Great day out! Reva had written on the back of the photograph, along with the date. In the accompanying letter she wrote that they were all well and hoped we were too. She thought I would like to know that Danny’s assessment by the educational psychologist had begun, but her report and recommendations wouldn’t be available for some months. She said Danny still loved colourful patterns and his bedroom walls were now covered with his drawings. The parenting course she’d signed up for would begin in January, and she finished the letter by thanking me again for looking after Danny.
I added the photograph to our family album, and sent Reva a notelet thanking her for both the letter and the picture, and wishing them all well.
I didn’t hear any more – I wasn’t expecting to, as I thought Richard and Reva would want to get on with their lives and put a very difficult period behind them. Then, eighteen months later, I was in a popular pub restaurant one evening celebrating a friend’s birthday when who should walk in but Richard and Reva with another couple. I waited until they were seated – at a table on the far side of the room – and had ordered their drinks, then excused myself from my friends and went over. Reva saw me first and was immediately on her feet. She came out from behind the table and hugged and kissed me.
‘Cathy, how lovely to see you. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. I feel awful, but the time has just slipped away.’
‘Don’t worry. I know the feeling,’ I said, smiling. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘And you.’
Richard stood and shook my hand warmly. ‘Lovely to see you again, Cathy. So the kids have let you out for the evening.’
