by Trisha Merry
‘You’ll like it here,’ said Ronnie. ‘We’re going to be mates, you and me.’
‘And me,’ added Paul.
‘OK,’ agreed AJ. Then silence. He must have fallen straight off to sleep.
‘Our new little lad, AJ, looks very underfed, doesn’t he?’ asked Mike later that evening.
‘Yes, but he’s already started to make up for that. He ate three fat sausages for his tea, so I’m sure he’ll soon start filling out,’ I said. ‘I’m more concerned about his emotional neglect. I gave him a kiss on his forehead as I tucked him into bed tonight, and he seemed to flinch. I don’t know whether he was surprised or dismayed. It was as if nobody had ever kissed him before. It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? A mother not kissing her own child.’
‘Yes. No wonder he looks so miserable.’
‘The other thing . . .’
‘What . . . ?’
‘Have you noticed his movements? How uncoordinated he seems to be? Almost as if he has a mild case of cerebral palsy.’
‘I noticed that he was a bit clumsy today with the building bricks, and there’s something odd about his walk,’ agreed Mike.
‘He seems to get on well with Ronnie, doesn’t he? I hope they’ll be good friends for each other.’
‘As long as Paul doesn’t mind the competition.’
‘Paul’s not like that,’ I said. ‘He likes a rough and tumble with the boys and they’re the only three at the moment.’
‘AJ seems a good lad.’
‘Never speak too soon,’ I warned with a smile. ‘He may turn out to have a lot of problems!’
‘I don’t think so. We’ll get some love into him and he’ll be fine.’
I hoped Mike would be right, but I wasn’t so sure.
6
A Steal a Day
On Monday morning, I trundled the pram and all the children down to the village school as usual. I dropped Chrissy off at her classroom door, then the rest of us all went along to the school office to register AJ, so that he could be transferred to this school as well. A junior teacher came to take him down to Chrissy’s class. I wondered how she would react, given her recent moodiness. No doubt we would soon find out.
At home time, we all returned to the school to collect them both. AJ came out first, with his distinctive walk, his knees almost knocking. In fact, seeing him in his school shorts, that’s when it suddenly occurred to me . . . his legs weren’t quite straight like the other children’s. Could it be rickets? No, surely not . . . but maybe a mild form of it? That made some sense, knowing how underfed he had been.
As I waited for Chrissy to appear, their teacher came out to find me.
‘Hello, Mrs Merry. I just wanted to come and tell you that AJ has settled in reasonably well today.’ She paused, as if planning her words. ‘He made an enthusiastic start. In fact, he reminds me of a puppy – all legs and eagerness!’
I laughed. ‘That’s a good description.’
‘I put him at Chrissy’s table at first, to help him feel at ease. But that didn’t work at all, so I moved him across the room and he was much happier there. It’s early days, but I think he’s begun to make friends.’
It was a different story when he came out of school the next day.
‘I’ll come to the point, Mrs Merry,’ said the teacher, with a stern yet also sympathetic face. ‘We noticed a couple of things go missing yesterday, in the classroom,’ she began. ‘But they were only minor things that belonged to the school – a box of blackboard chalk and the ruler from my desk drawer. I assumed somebody had borrowed them and not put them back, which may still be the case of course.’
‘Oh, right . . .’ I said. I could sense there was more to come.
‘But today, I found one of the other children crying at lunchtime, because her lunch-box had been raided and nearly everything was missing.’
‘Maybe this child’s parents left things out by accident,’ I pointed out, with my fingers crossed.
‘We thought of that,’ she said. ‘So we rang the child’s mum at home and she said that nothing had been left behind. She was sure that she had packed everything in the box herself, and she listed what should have been there, but most of those things had gone.’
‘Are you suggesting AJ was to blame?’
‘I know AJ was to blame,’ she replied. ‘I checked his coat pockets and I found the crisp and chocolate bar wrappers in there. When I asked him about them, he said at first they were his. But when I asked him again in front of the other child, he seemed to crumble. He started to cry and then he apologised to her.’
‘Did you ask him why he had taken her things?’
‘Yes. He just said he was hungry. But then he added another thing, which I thought was quite strange. He said his dad made him do it.’
‘Really? We’ll have to look into this at home. I’m really sorry about his classmate’s lunch. Did she have enough to eat?’
‘Yes, we found her some replacements in the staff room,’ said the teacher. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you could please have a word with AJ tonight and see if you can get to the bottom of this. We don’t want it happening again.’
‘I will,’ I assured her, then gathered my flock from off the climbing frame and left for home.
After tea, when Lizzie had taken the children off to the playroom and Mike was clearing away, I took AJ into the sitting room for a quiet chat. He seemed surprised to be singled out . . . and a little apprehensive.
‘Your teacher, Mrs Hughes, told me about the missing lunch,’ I began, and paused to see his reaction.
He said nothing, but shifted his bottom round on the sofa, looking away from me.
‘What do you know about it?’ I asked him directly, turning him gently back towards me. He wriggled a bit, but looked lost for what to say.
‘And Mrs Hughes said that she found the other girl’s crisp and chocolate bar wrappers in your pocket.’
‘Yes,’ he said, hanging his head. ‘But I don’t know how they got there. Somebody must have put them there.’
‘We could talk about this for a long time,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to take up all your playtime with the others, so why don’t you just tell me the truth? Did you take those things out of the girl’s lunch box?’
‘No,’ he insisted, turning his head away. ‘I told you . . .’
‘Yes, you did.’
Silence . . . and I let it last before saying anything.
‘Why did you take them, AJ?’
‘I was hungry.’
‘You had lots of food in your lunchbox.’
‘Everyone takes things,’ he said, changing his tack.
‘You told Mrs Hughes that your dad made you do it.’
‘Yes,’ was his sullen answer.
‘What did you mean?’
‘Well . . . my dad and my mum steal things . . .’
‘OK.’
‘And my dad makes me steal things too.’
‘Really?’
‘He said I have to steal something every day, so they can buy me food to eat.’ AJ paused. ‘I’m not very good at it.’ He crumpled up and burst into tears, then wracking sobs, his bony shoulders heaving.
I put my arm round him and held him close for a while, stroking his straggly hair. Gradually his sobbing subsided as he sat in a limp heap, cuddled up to me. I thought we’d said enough for now. But there was one thing I was puzzled about.
‘I heard that someone found you in a skip on Friday. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’ He sniffed and I passed him a tissue to blow his nose.
‘Tell me how that happened.’
‘It was my dad. When he came home he wanted to see what I stole that day. But I couldn’t, so he got angry. He took me outside and threw me in the skip.’
‘Oh dear,’ I sympathised. ‘Was it empty or were there things in it?
‘Nearly empty. Just some bits of wood and old carpet at the bottom. I tried to climb out, but I couldn’t reach.’
‘
Did you call for help?’
‘No. My dad beats me if I make a noise. It was dark and I was cold, so I made a little bed out of the bits of carpet and tried to sleep.’
I gave him another cuddle. ‘You must have been very cold.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well you’re here now.’ I gave him a hug and sent him off to join the others for a short playtime before bed.
Later that evening, I told Mike what the teacher had said at school about AJ stealing, and what he himself had told me about his father and the skip.
‘So has he stolen anything from us or the other children?’ he asked.
‘Not as far as I know. Not yet anyway.’
‘Do you think he will?’
‘Probably, yes.’ I nodded. ‘I think it’s become the norm for him – something he has had to achieve every day, poor mite. It’s turned most people’s set of values entirely on its head. We can’t expect him to suddenly shun everything he’s known as being right and make his mind think of it as wrong. We may have a lengthy process ahead of us . . . if he stays that long.’
‘Oh, that sounds too psychological for me.’ Mike paused. ‘I guess you’re right. We’ll have to watch him and help him understand . . . And maybe hide our valuables away where he can’t find them.’
We sat in silence for a minute or two, neither of us wanting to voice how uncomfortable we felt about the way this situation was making us think.
‘It’s going to be an uphill climb,’ Mike admitted. Do you think we’re up to it?’
‘I hope so.’ I sighed. ‘He needs us. We have to help him.’
The term ended without much further trouble, apart from AJ bringing home some of the decorations off the class Christmas tree, pinching a chocolate roll from another lunch-box and taking a Superman figure from a coat pocket in the cloakroom. We had to have words about those. There may have been other things too of course, but in all the end-of-term excitement I suppose they didn’t come to light.
The run-up to Christmas at our house, from the beginning of December, was always a very busy time, with our huge tree to decorate in the hall, the paper chains to make and put up and the puddings to mix, with everyone having a stir and a wish.
‘I wish I can have a red car to ride in,’ said Paul.
‘I wish someone would give me a Sindy doll,’ added Sheena, with her stir.
‘You don’t just have to wish for presents,’ I suggested.
Daisy took the wooden spoon, her face solemn with thought. As she began to stir, she looked at me and said: ‘I want to learn to knit.’
‘But you’re not even five yet,’ said Chrissy.
‘I don’t need to be five. I can learn,’ replied Daisy, pouting stubbornly.
‘Does anyone else want to make a wish?’
Chrissy shot her hand in the air. ‘Yes, me please.’
They all took a turn and then finally AJ stepped forward. He looked down into the bowl as he began to stir. ‘I wish I could stay here,’ he said. The room was silent.
I stepped forward and put my arm round him. ‘That’s a lovely wish, AJ. I hope you can stay as long as you want.’
On Christmas Eve, all the children were hyper with excitement.
By the time they were all in bed asleep, and we’d tiptoed round and snuck little gifts and fillers into everyone’s stockings, we were ready for an early night. Mike and I fell into a deep sleep, but it wasn’t to last.
Paul burst into our room at one o’clock in the morning.
‘Father Christmas forgot me,’ he wailed. I’d never heard Paul cry quite like this before. He could be wild and troublesome sometimes, out of sheer exuberance, but mostly he was a ball of lightning with a sunny smile. But it was Christmas Eve and he really thought he had been left out. I took him by the hand, back into his bedroom, which he shared with Ronnie and AJ. I was sure we had left his stocking stuffed full of goodies, just like all the others, but it was completely flat and empty on the end of his bed.
‘Maybe Father Christmas has put your presents somewhere else,’ I suggested, wiping his tears away. ‘Come with me now and you can choose something for you to keep from the secret treasure-chest in my bedroom.’
‘OK,’ he whimpered, taking my hand.
In the morning, in all the excitement of everyone up before dawn, laughing and smiling as they emptied their stockings out on their beds, Paul was able to do the same. I’d gone back and quietly searched their room, without waking a soul, but I didn’t have to look far – I wasn’t surprised to find Paul’s missing gifts stuffed under the end of AJ’s bed.
No wonder AJ looked so amazed to see Paul enjoying his stocking gifts.
‘Pop your slippers on and keep your feet warm,’ I said to all three boys, but I watched AJ as he knelt down to find his slippers, which I’d kicked under the bed. He stayed down there just a couple of seconds too long, surveying the empty space, and as he stood up again, his eyes widened and his face turned pale.
‘Happy Christmas, AJ,’ I said with a grin.
He gave me a sideways look, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. I knew what he was thinking. I believe he may have guessed what I was thinking too.
Santa was kind to all the children that Christmas and they all played happily together with their new toys. As we approached New Year, we had two spaces in our house. I wondered who we’d have next to fill them.
7
Fire! Fire!
Daisy and Paul had now been with us two and a half years and they hadn’t seen their father since the day he’d been drunk. I wasn’t sure they even remembered him anymore. Six-year-old Chrissy and five-year-olds Sheena and Ronnie were all still with us. More recently, gangly six-year-old AJ had arrived and joined in with their games, especially with Ronnie – I don’t know which of them was clumsier and they always came in muddy, whatever the weather.
Our little bush-baby, Laurel, was a toddler now, at eighteen months old, running around and trying to catch up with the older ones. She was a spunky little thing and rarely without a smile or a giggle. Her thick hair now completely hid the scar from her head injury the day she’d been found. No mother or relative had ever come forward, despite all the publicity, so the police had closed the case and she was now officially up for adoption.
It was six months since newborn baby Gail had joined us and despite her swollen head, caused by the hydrocephalus, having to be protected so much, she was a gentle and contented child, who loved watching the activities going on all around her.
We had a slide and a climbing frame with a net in the garden at Sonnington, and various outdoor toys and games. But what I loved watching best was when they were making things up, making wonderful fun out of very little. Some logs, some string, some old car and tractor tyres, some of which we hung from the trees; old boxes, cardboard tubes for sword-fights, old sheets and sticks to make tents with. They had three acres to run around and play in and all the fruit trees to climb, so they weren’t hard work when they were outside.
Come rain or shine, the bigger ones would all be out there whenever they could. And on hot days one of the things they loved best was a good water-fight. They loved spraying each other with a couple of hoses, while the little ones ran and splashed about, screaming with excitement.
The older ones were very caring with the younger children. Most days somebody came running in to tell me ‘Laurel’s fallen over’, or ‘the baby’s just been sick’. All the kids competed to rush in and do the telling when there was the slightest incident, which they had exaggerated into a major disaster by the time they got to me.
A few days into the new year we were joined by another eighteen-month-old toddler. Alfie was very shy at first and clung on to the cuddly elephant he had brought with him. He took it everywhere and could rarely be persuaded to let it go – even at bathtime. We had to pretend to wash ‘Ellie’ too.
A few days after Alfie came, we had a call from Social Services and welcomed four-year-old Gilroy, whose mother was something to beho
ld. She told me she had saved Gilroy from a vicious beating from his father,
‘He’s a brute; he is always attacking us,’ she explained. ‘Only I couldn’t watch him murder my boy.’ She shot a quick glance at her sturdy son, who glared back at her.
There doesn’t seem much love lost there, I thought. But at least she had protected Gilroy from serious injury, or worse.
‘I ran down to the chippy and rang for the police,’ she said. ‘Fat lot of good they did. Just cautioned the sod. So I had to call Social Services to take Gilroy into care.’ She paused. ‘It’s a good job we only had one child.’ She raised her voice. ‘And he’s nothing but a pain.’ I glanced at Gilroy, who looked away, hiding his anguish.
As soon as his mother had left, Gilroy’s mood switched to anger as he ran out to join the gang, though I don’t think they were too keen on the way he muscled in straight away. I watched him as he went from one child to another, pushing and bullying his way round the garden, until he came to little Alfie, cowering away from him. Gilroy grabbed his elephant and pushed the toddler into a muddy puddle. Then he threw poor Alfie’s elephant over the fence. Alfie wailed loudly and the other kids came to his aid. Luckily it had landed on the top of a bush, so our tallest child, Ronnie, piled up some wooden crates, climbed up and just managed to reach it with his long arms. Gilroy kicked Ronnie’s leg and ran off surprisingly fast. Luckily, good-natured Ronnie just ignored Gilroy after that, protecting the others as much as he could.
That boy was in a permanent strop from the day he arrived. I could see that his traumatic background and difficult mother would haunt him, and probably us as well, for a long time. Gilroy was the bull in our china shop and shook everyone up. His main pleasure seemed to be to hurt others. But he did gradually settle in and even relaxed a little as he wormed his way into our affections with his jokes and his dramatic exaggerations. Indeed, despite his young age, he dominated almost every situation, always on the lookout for ways to make things worse or unduly alarm people.
So when he rushed in to update me on any minor mishap, it was a major scoop and he made the most of it. ‘Ronnie’s fallen over. He’s hit his head and the blood’s pouring out. His eyes look funny. Do you think he’s dead?’
