by Shane Dunphy
‘A hurling helmet?’
‘Oh, it was a jersey,’ Gertrude finally snapped. ‘He threw a dirty football jersey at me.’
I had suspected as much.
‘And what brought on this outburst?’ I asked, feeling my colour starting to rise.
‘We were fighting.’
‘Over what?’
‘It was the usual stuff. I barely remember.’
‘Gertrude, I’d like to be able to go over this with Patrick, so he can understand why you’re sending him away. You’re the person he’s called “mother” for the past seven years, after all. I think the details are important.’
She paused, searching for a tone of condemnation in my voice. Finding only concern, she decided to continue. ‘I was gathering clothes for a wash.’
‘Gertrude, let me get this straight,’ Marian interjected. ‘The two of ye were gathering dirty clothes for a wash, and began to argue?’
‘Yes.’
‘And, in the heat of the moment, Patrick tossed a dirty football jersey at you – was it going into the wash anyway?’
‘Yes, I had just asked him for it.’
Marian and I both looked at the woman.
‘So you asked him to give it to you?’ I said, this time the condemnation sticking out like a sore thumb.
‘It was the way he threw it.’ Gertrude folded her arms and sniffed. ‘I know him. It was an act of violence and defiance.’
‘Gertrude, what you’re proposing to do is a very severe response to what, I have to tell you, is a fairly mundane act of teenage rebellion,’ Marian said. ‘He might have thrown the jumper with a little too much force, and of course you have more experience with him than we do, but do you think that warrants chucking him out of the house? You call this boy your son, Gertrude. You’re his mum, in every way that counts.’
‘I don’t know you,’ Gertrude retorted. Everything Marian had just said had obviously gone over her head. ‘Why did you bring her here, Shane?’
‘I thought a fresh eye would be useful,’ I answered honestly. ‘At times you and I have become so combative, I thought a new perspective might help. And, if you’re dead set on sending Patrick away, it’s policy to have two workers on a major move.’
‘Well, I can tell you both, I am immovable on this,’ Gertrude said. ‘I am very firm on this issue. In wanting him gone. Today.’
Despite the fact that Patrick had lived with Gertrude for seven years, his belongings fitted into one bin liner. My heart sank even further when I saw it.
‘Couldn’t you lend him a suitcase?’ I asked. ‘At least let him salvage some pride.’
‘I don’t have one to spare, at the moment,’ Gertrude said sharply. ‘Now he’ll be home in a minute, and I want you to meet him at the door to tell him the news.’
I turned and stared at the portly, purple-haired woman. She was a good head shorter than me, and stood gazing up at me, a look of merriment on her chubby, wrinkled face. The desire to scream and run out of the house was almost overwhelming. ‘Are you trying to tell me that Patrick has no idea he is moving this evening?’ I asked slowly.
‘Well, now, I was hardly going to tell him yesterday and drive him to even worse displays of thuggery, was I?’ Gertrude said, looking at Marian as if to say: He just doesn’t get it, does he?
‘Which means Bethany doesn’t know either,’ I said.
‘She’ll be as relieved as me and her father,’ Gertrude said, smiling. ‘It’ll be like a weight has been lifted from us all.’
Marian put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed – keep it together, Shane – and said, as slowly and clearly as she could, ‘Gertrude, this has been Patrick’s home – his world, really – since he was five years old. You are proposing to turn his life upside down, to take him away from everything he has known, and you aren’t even giving him a day or two to prepare himself. Can’t you see you’re being a bit harsh?’
‘Harsh?’ Gertrude laughed at her. ‘He’s been harsh with me every day for the past twelve months, so he has. I’ve lived in fear for my life. No, I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. Anyone will tell you I’ve done my best for that lad. My health has suffered.’
I took a series of deep breaths, and heard a bus pull up outside.
‘That’ll be them,’ Gertrude said gaily and pushed me towards the front door.
I heard the children approaching: Bethany’s musical laugh and Patrick’s voice, its timbre out of kilter – a symptom of the embarrassing process of breaking. I heard their shoes clattering on the doorstep, then the ding-dong of the old-fashioned doorbell. I turned the handle, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach.
‘We knew you were here, we knew you were here,’ Bethany sang as she skipped past me. ‘We saw your old car parked up the street, and I said to Patrick: “Shane’s come to visit us.” Can we go for ice-cream again?’
‘No, sweetheart, not today. I’m sorry,’ I said as her brother, grinning, shoved past, nearly knocking me aside with his heavy schoolbag.
‘Who’s this?’ Patrick asked, looking at Marian.
‘This is my friend Marian Brodbin. She works with me.’
‘Am I getting a girl worker?’ Bethany asked.
‘You don’t need a worker, precious,’ Gertrude piped up. ‘You’re absolutely perfect just the way you are. Shane and this other lady have come to tell Patrick something. You come with me for a moment while they have a talk.’
‘But I want to hear what it is. Is it a surprise?’
Still protesting, Bethany was ushered upstairs, leaving the three of us standing in the hallway. Patrick had already spotted the bin liner and was eyeing it with a clouded look.
‘Why is Bunny in that bag?’
I looked, and saw the ears of a stuffed rabbit sticking out of the opening of the plastic sack. It seemed so incongruous to me – I had never pictured Patrick with a cuddly toy.
‘If she’s trying to throw all my stuff out, she can forget about it – Bunny was given to me by my real mother, and I’m keeping it! What else is in there?’
He made to grab the bag, but I got in his way. ‘Hold on for a sec, Patrick. She’s not putting your things in the bin. Come on, let’s sit and talk for a minute.’
I led the boy through to the sitting room, and we sat together on the couch.
‘There’s no nice way to say this, Patrick, so I’m just going to come right out with it. Gertrude doesn’t want you living here any more. Another foster home has been organized, and Marian and I have come over to take you there.’
Patrick, at first, made no show of emotion at this news. He sat looking coldly at me, his jaw tight. I was reminded of his body language during the mediation sessions. I got the feeling he was locking down all his systems. If he closed off, he couldn’t be hurt.
Marian seemed to be thinking the same thing. ‘That’s a pretty big bit of news, Patrick. Do you have any questions for us?’
He blinked three times in quick succession. ‘Is Bethany staying here?’
‘Yes, she is,’ I said. ‘I promise you, I’ll make sure you see her as often as you want.’
‘I’m glad she’s staying,’ he said quietly. ‘She loves it here, and they love her. They couldn’t ever really get to like me.’
‘That’s not true,’ I said. ‘I think Gertrude loves you very much. She just doesn’t know how to handle a teenaged boy, that’s all.’
‘So where am I going?’
‘Just outside the city for a few nights, until we find somewhere else. It’s what’s called a short-term placement.’
‘Will there be other children?’
‘No,’ Marian answered. ‘Just you and an old lady named Prudence. She’s been fostering for a long time, and she’s had lots of boys your age.’
‘We’ll make our way there now,’ I said. ‘Let you get settled in, and then I’ll be out tomorrow to see how you’re getting on. This’ll work, Patrick. I know it seems bleak now, but we’ll get through it.’
He nodd
ed.
‘Go and get Gertrude and Bethany, will you, Marian?’
She nodded and left us. As she went out the door, Patrick squeezed his eyes tight shut, and tears began to run down his cheeks. He made no sound, and his body did not shake. He cried silently and with heartbreaking dignity.
I reached out and gripped his arm. ‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘It’s all right to feel bad.’
As soon as the tears came they were gone, and by the time Gertrude and a very subdued Bethany came into the room, he was standing ready to go, his pathetic bag of clothes and toys in his hand.
‘Don’t leave,’ Bethany said, as soon as she saw him. ‘Tell her you’ll be good. Say you won’t fight with her any more.’
‘It wouldn’t make any difference, Bethany,’ Gertrude said. ‘My mind’s made up.’
‘But … we were supposed to go and see Santa together this weekend,’ Bethany said, panic descending on her now, her voice catching. ‘We always go and see him, you, me and Patrick. Who’ll take him now?’
‘He should have thought of that when he was throwing things at me, shouldn’t he?’ Gertrude said, patting the sobbing child on the head in a useless attempt to comfort her. I suddenly realized I had never seen Gertrude hug either of the children.
Bethany rushed over to Patrick and grabbed him tightly. ‘Tell her you didn’t mean it! You’re my brother. You’re not supposed to go away. Stay here with me. I don’t want you to go.’
‘See what you’ve done, Patrick,’ Gertrude said, watching this drama unfold with a wry smile. ‘See how you’ve hurt your sister?’
‘That’s enough, Gertrude,’ I said, my rage barely contained now. ‘Can’t you just let them say goodbye?’
‘Come along, sweetie.’ Gertrude, as she had been doing since the first day we met, pretended I had not said a word. ‘Patrick has to go now.’
‘Don’t cry, little Bethany,’ Patrick said, holding his sister fiercely and kissing her forehead. ‘I’ll see you soon. Shane will look after me, and he’ll make sure we see one another. We’ll have that ice-cream together.’
Marian had turned away; she was crying too. I knelt down beside Bethany. ‘I’ll take you to see him, I really will. I promise he’ll be safe and looked after, and I’ll take him to see Santa too, if he wants to go.’
‘He does, don’t you, Patrick?’ Bethany said, looking up at her brother.
‘Maybe I’m getting a little bit old for Santa now,’ Patrick said, smiling, wiping tears from her face with his sleeve.
‘That’s okay,’ Bethany said. ‘He doesn’t mind if you’re a bit old. You wrote him a letter, didn’t you?’
‘I did. We wrote to him together.’
‘How will he know where you are to bring you your presents if you don’t go and tell him?’
‘Maybe I will. Or I could write to him again, couldn’t I? It’s not too late to get a letter to the North Pole.’
‘Yes!’ Bethany held on to that hope urgently. ‘Write to him as soon as you know where you’ll be staying. Promise me. Cross your heart and hope to die.’
‘I promise.’
‘Cross your heart!’
Patrick pushed her gently away and made a cross shape across his chest.
‘It’s time to get going now.’ Gertrude could contain herself no longer. I stood up and hugged both children, pressing them together, then gently separating them. Bethany sat down on the couch and continued to cry forlornly. I took the bin liner from Patrick and, with my arm still around him, walked him out to the car. Marian followed. Gertrude remained where she was. She never said goodbye.
It took us a good hour to reach Hay Cottage, which was situated in a small village north of the city. I put a Top 40 station on the radio, and, to my surprise, Patrick sang along with gusto to the various hits of the day, as the houses grew further and further apart, and fields opened on either side of us. I hadn’t known at that time that he had any interest in music. But then I had known him for such a short time – there was bound to be a lot I didn’t know. Marian seemed to be familiar with most of the songs too, and she joined in with him on the choruses. I was glad she was there – I would have found the drive very difficult had she not been.
Hay Cottage was a long, low building, made of red brick with a green slate roof, bedecked with rather sad-looking ivy. A long drive led up to it, and, as the Austin wound its way along the tree-lined avenue, I watched in the rear-view mirror as Patrick took in his surroundings. The garden was large and not particularly well kept, an ancient weeping willow in the centre giving a sense of doom to the place. The whole scene only added to my depression, and I doubted that Patrick felt much better about it.
I parked outside the bungalow and rang the bell, which was, literally, a bell attached to a piece of rope. Marian and Patrick followed behind me, neither enamoured of the overall atmosphere.
‘Well, I hope someone’s home,’ Marian said, watching the wind blow the dragging, tentacle-like branches of the willow in a kind of zombie-like lurch. I shivered, and rang again.
Slow, shuffling footsteps approached, and the door finally creaked open. A bright-eyed, hunched old woman peered out at us. ‘Yes? How can I help you?’
I introduced us all. ‘We’re here to drop Patrick off with you for a few nights. The HSE has been in touch, haven’t they?’
‘Oh, yes,’ the old lady said, smiling up at the three of us. ‘He’s coming tomorrow.’
I looked at Marian with worry. ‘No, he’s here now.’
‘He can’t come now. I have visitors. There’s nowhere for him to sleep.’
The wind howled behind us, whistling and screeching across the expanse of garden and rushing on to the open pastures behind the house. ‘Prudence, can we come in, please? It’s freezing out here,’ Marian beseeched, and the old lady nodded, opening the door wide and admitting us.
It became clear to me, within minutes of being shown into Prudence’s ornate, lace-bedecked parlour, that this was a placement doomed to almost immediate failure, even if our host had been expecting us. All around were antiques, porcelain dolls of indeterminate age, paintings that looked as if they might have been borrowed from a gallery in Venice and furniture I felt bad sitting on. If Prudence had, indeed, fostered teenaged boys before, I wondered what kind of youngsters they were, and how they had managed to coexist in any kind of harmony with all this very delicate-looking bric-a-brac.
The entire place smelled of pot-pourri and boiled cabbage. We were given tea and rock buns (‘I baked them just this morning’), and, while Marian sat and made small talk, I excused myself and went out to call Ben. I had to wander around the garden for five minutes before I finally found a signal.
‘Ben,’ I shouted over the wind and static. ‘We’ve got a problem.’
He didn’t waste time, but told me to stay exactly where I was and that he’d ring back in five minutes. I squatted underneath a rhododendron bush and smoked a cigarette that I had to keep cupped in my hands. After what seemed like an hour, the phone rang.
‘There is only one bed available in the city this evening,’ he told me. ‘It’s in residential.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers. Give me the address.’
‘Do you know St Callow’s Home?’
I froze. This was the residential unit I had been speaking to Devereux about on the boat from Salt Island. They were having a problem with peer abuse.
‘I don’t think I can send him there, Ben. It’s not safe.’
‘It’s all I’ve got. There’s no choice.’
‘I’ll ring you back. I need to make another call.’
I dialled Devereux’s number.
‘Speak.’
‘D’you remember we talked about St Callow’s a couple of weeks ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that problem still an issue?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I have a kid who’s about to be placed there.’
‘I’d advise against it at present, S
hane.’
‘That’s all I need to know.’
‘Right.’
He hung up.
I dialled Ben again. ‘I can’t send him there, Ben. I know there’s no place else, but I just can’t. He’ll be abused. It just isn’t an option.’
Silence came down the line, interspersed with bursts of white noise. Then: ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘There’s only one thing to do.’
‘What?’
‘He’ll have to come home with me.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I don’t see that there’s much choice. Gertrude won’t have him. Prudence won’t have him. St Callow’s is a mess, and I will not, in good conscience, send him somewhere I know he’ll be raped. I have a spare room. I’m a qualified childcare worker, and I have Garda clearance. It seems the most sensible thing, under the circumstances.’
Ben cleared his throat. I could sense the conflict he was going through. ‘I’m not asking you to do this, Shane. If you do, it’s your own choice. I might agree with you, but we both know it’s above and beyond the call of duty. I am telling you there is a bed in res., if you wish to use it.’
‘I do not wish to, Ben. Patrick Bassett is coming home with me this evening. I’ll not be taking him back to Hay Cottage tomorrow. Would you please call Fostering Services and ask them to start looking for a new placement?’
‘Okay. If you need anything at all, call me. Can Marian stay at yours tonight? Safety procedures and all that.’
‘I’ll ask her.’
‘Okay. I’ll talk to you later.’
I hung up and walked slowly back to the house.
Marian looked at me, aghast. Patrick was still listening politely to Prudence regaling him with stories of the various children she’d cared for. We stood outside the door to the parlour, speaking quietly.
‘Jesus, Shane. It’s kind of crossing a line, isn’t it? I mean, it’s something you just don’t do.’
‘I bet you’ve considered taking a client home before, on more than one occasion.’
‘Of course I have – we all do, from time to time, but you just deal with the feeling and get on with the job. It’s called keeping a professional distance.’
I took Marian’s hand. ‘I won’t place this boy somewhere I have no doubt he’ll be molested. I’ve messed this case up, and he and his sister are the ones suffering for it. I’m not going to aggravate that misery any further by throwing peer abuse into the mix. Do I really have a choice?’
