Saving Danny (3 page)

‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know what happens.’

‘Thanks. I’ll visit you and Danny tomorrow after school,’ Jill said. ‘Four o’clock?’

‘That’s fine. We’ll be home by then.’

‘And you’ve got everything you need for tonight?’ Jill asked.

‘I think so. Danny’s come with a holdall. Terri didn’t say he had any allergies or special dietary requirements, so I assume there are none.’

‘There’s nothing in the essential information forms,’ Jill confirmed. ‘And he hasn’t come with any medication?’

‘Not as far as I know, no.’

‘All right, well, good luck then, see you tomorrow.’

We said goodbye. I replaced the handset and looked at Danny. He was now watching Paula put together the pieces of Lego but wasn’t making any attempt to join in, although Paula was encouraging him. It was 6.30, and I really needed to get the dinner on the table. Danny was calm, so I asked Paula if she could stay with him while I went into the kitchen. I went over to Danny to tell him what was going to happen. When a child first arrives I find it helps them if routines, practices and expectations are explained as they arise. Households vary and what is obvious and familiar to members of one household won’t be to another. It helps them to settle in if they have a routine and know what to expect.

‘Danny,’ I said, squatting down so I was in his line of vision (although he didn’t make eye contact), ‘it’s nearly time for our dinner, so I’m going into the kitchen to finish making it. Then we’ll all sit at the table and eat. Paula is going to stay here with you, while I’m in the kitchen. All right?’

He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me, but I now knew he could hear, so I continued. ‘If you need anything, tell Paula. Do you need the toilet yet?’ I thought to ask.

Danny gave a small shake of his head.

‘OK. Good boy. When you do, ask Paula or me, and I’ll show you where it is.’ Usually, I took a new child on a tour of the house soon after they’d arrived so that they knew where everything was, and normally they were inquisitive and ready to have a good look around, but Danny wasn’t. He was clearly struggling with all the changes, so I thought I’d leave the tour for another time. He was a child who needed to take things very gradually, one step at a time.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked him as I stood.

He gave another little shake of his head.

‘I’ll leave the door open so you can hear me in the kitchen,’ I said. I went to touch his shoulder – a little reassuring physical contact – but he moved out of reach. Not rudely, just showing he didn’t want to be touched, which I understood. I hoped that would change in future when he got to know me, for if there was ever a child who looked in need of a hug, it was Danny.

As I worked in the kitchen I could hear Paula talking to Danny, encouraging him to play, but there was nothing coming from Danny. I would learn more about his language delay and general development at the meeting at his school the following morning, when I would also meet his mother.

Once dinner was ready I went into the living room where Paula and Danny were sitting on the floor as I’d left them. Paula had built a small house out of Lego, complete with windows, a door and a potted plant on the doorstep. Danny appeared not to have even touched the Lego. There were other games and toys within his reach, but he hadn’t attempted any of them, despite Paula’s encouragement.

‘Very nice,’ I said to Paula, admiring her house.

She grinned. ‘I’ve always liked Lego.’

‘I know. Dinner’s ready,’ I said to them both. ‘I’ll call Adrian and Lucy.’

I left the living room and went to the foot of the stairs where I called up to Adrian and Lucy. They replied that they’d be down straightaway. I returned to the living room where, to my slight surprise, Danny was slowly undoing the zipper on his coat. Then he began struggling out of it – difficult while sitting down. Paula instinctively reached out to help him, but he pulled away from her. She looked at me and I motioned for her not to worry. Fiercely independent, Danny struggled out of his coat and then clutched it protectively to his chest.

‘Danny, we’re going to eat now,’ I said, going over to him.

He didn’t look at me or reply, but he did stand up.

‘Wotcha!’ Lucy said to Danny, as she bounced into the living room. ‘I’m Lucy, Cathy’s other daughter. How are you doing, Mister?’

Danny didn’t look at her.

‘I was a foster child once,’ Lucy said, trying to reassure him. ‘So I know how you feel. But you’ll be fine here, I promise you. You’ll be well looked after and will soon feel at home.’

Bless her, I thought, although Lucy’s arrival as a foster child had been very different to Danny’s. She’d been older and had been grateful for the stability that being in care offered. I wondered if Danny would respond to her approach, but he didn’t; he just clutched his coat and stared at the floor. He looked so lost and alone I dearly wished I could reach out and hug him, as I’m sure Paula and Lucy did too, but clearly Danny was nowhere near ready for that yet.

‘Let’s eat,’ I said.

Lucy turned and led the way into the kitchen-cum-dining room with Paula following and then Danny and me. Danny was still clutching his coat.

‘This is where you sit,’ I said to Danny, drawing out the chair. We tended to keep the same places at the table, partly from habit but also because it helped the children I fostered to settle in if they knew where to sit. It became known as their place, and some even wrote their name on a piece of paper and stuck it to the back of the chair.

Danny was standing by his chair, still holding his coat. ‘Shall I put your coat with ours in the hall?’ I asked him.

He shook his head.

‘Hang it on the back of your chair then,’ I said, ‘so it doesn’t get food down it. It’s a nice coat. You don’t want it spoilt.’

Thankfully, Danny did as I asked and very slowly and meticulously draped his coat around the chair-back, and then spent time adjusting and straightening it.

‘That’s cute,’ Lucy said, watching him. Indeed it was, but it was also a little odd. Most boys of Danny’s age would have happily thrown their coat on the floor, not spent minutes perfecting its position. Adrian still dumped his coat on the floor sometimes if he was in a hurry.

‘Sit down now,’ I said to Danny, for having arranged his coat to his satisfaction he was still standing by the chair.

There was a small delay, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, before he climbed onto his chair.

Adrian arrived and said, ‘Hi, Danny,’ as he took his place at the table.

Danny lifted his head slightly in Adrian’s direction but didn’t look at him.

‘This is my son Adrian,’ I said to Danny.

‘Hi, Danny,’ Adrian said again, but Danny still didn’t reply.

‘It’s bound to take Danny a while to get used to us all,’ I reassured everyone.

I served dinner and then sat in my place at the end of the table. Danny and Paula sat next to each other, to my right, and Adrian and Lucy to my left. We all began eating except little Danny, who sat motionless with his hands in his lap, staring at the contents of his plate. I’d given him a spoon as well as a knife and fork, but he made no attempt to pick up any of them. ‘It’s chicken and vegetable casserole,’ I said. ‘Try some. I’m sure you’ll like it.’

‘It’s nice,’ Lucy encouraged.

‘Yummy,’ Paula said.

Danny didn’t move or make any attempt to start eating.

‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘You need to eat something,’ I picked up his spoon and placed it on the edge of his plate, ready for him to use.

After a moment he slowly picked up the spoon, but instead of dipping it into his food to start eating he set it down again. He repositioned it precisely beside his plate and then picked it up again. Independent, or resenting my help? I didn’t know. My children had seen this, but they knew better than to comment. Nor did they say anything about what Danny did next. Having picked up his spoon, he didn’t use it to start eating but began separating out the various components of the casserole. He arranged them in little heaps around the edge of his plate so that after a while there was a little pile of chicken pieces, another of diced potatoes, another of sliced carrots, and a mound of peas. You couldn’t really call it ‘playing’ or ‘toying’ with his food – it was too exact and precise for that. My children and I watched mesmerised – surreptitiously, of course, so Danny didn’t notice.

‘Are you going to eat it now?’ I asked him eventually.

Danny gave a small nod and then, using his spoon, began eating his food, one pile at a time. First the chicken, then the potatoes, carrots and peas. It wasn’t how one would normally eat a casserole, but the important thing was that Danny was eating. He finished it all and then spent some minutes scooping up the gravy until his plate was clear.

‘Good boy,’ I said.

He was the last to finish, and I now stood and began gathering together the dirty dishes. As I did, Danny finally spoke. He said one word: ‘George.’

Chapter Three

George

We all looked at him. We couldn’t help it. Danny suddenly speaking had taken us all by surprise.

‘George?’ Paula and I chorused together.

‘Who’s George?’ Lucy asked.

‘George,’ Danny repeated. ‘George. George.’

‘Tell me who George is,’ I said, ‘and I can help you.’

Danny stared around the room and then towards the kitchen as though he was looking for something or someone. ‘George,’ he said again, louder. ‘George!’

‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked, trying to make eye contact with him.

But he didn’t look at me or reply. He was staring around searchingly, clearly looking for something, but what or who? He was also growing increasingly anxious in his demands for George. ‘George! George!’

‘Is George a person?’ I asked him.

He didn’t reply.

‘A toy, maybe?’ I suggested. ‘Is George a toy in your holdall?’ I was envisaging a favourite toy packed by his mother that went everywhere with Danny and he couldn’t be separated from. But Danny shook his head vigorously.

‘George!’ he shouted again. Sliding off his chair, he ran into the kitchen and to the back door. I went after him.

‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked again.

‘George!’ he said, facing the back door as though George could be outside. ‘George! George!’ Danny was very agitated now and close to tears.

‘Danny, there’s no one out there, love,’ I said, going up to him. ‘George isn’t out there. Tell me who George is and I can help you.’

Danny turned from the door and looked around him, bewildered. Then he threw himself onto the floor, face down, and began sobbing and beating the tiles with his fists and feet. I knelt beside him and placed my hand lightly on his arm, but he wriggled out of reach and sobbed louder. Adrian, Paula and Lucy had fallen silent at the table and were looking at him, very worried.

‘George!’ Danny cried at the top of his voice as if he thought George might be able to hear him. ‘George!’

‘Danny, calm down,’ I said, staying close to him. ‘I’ll do what I can to find George.’

But he didn’t calm down; he continued sobbing loudly, crying out for George and beating the floor as his upset began to escalate into a tantrum. Sometimes, when a young child has a tantrum, holding them close and soothing them can ease them out of it, while older children often have to work through it before they can be held. Danny was so little and vulnerable my instinct was to pick him up, but given his resistance to physical contact I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.

‘Danny,’ I said, lightly touching his arm again, ‘can you tell me who George is?’

There was a small pause before he cried, ‘No!’ and thrashed around on the floor even more.

‘I can’t help you unless I know what it is you want,’ I said more firmly.

‘George!’ Danny yelled at the top of his voice.

At that moment Toscha, our rather lazy cat, perhaps intrigued by the commotion going on indoors, leapt in through the cat flap. Danny suddenly fell quiet – from shock, I think – and, sitting bolt upright, stared at Toscha. She threw him a disparaging glance and then sauntered over to her food bowl.

‘Not George!’ Danny cried, pointing to Toscha.

‘No. That’s Toscha, our cat,’ I said.

‘Not George!’ Danny cried again as though it was her fault.

‘No, our cat,’ I repeated. Danny got onto all fours and crawled to the cat flap and pushed it open.

‘Is there something you want to see outside?’ I asked.

Danny nodded vigorously.

‘Can you bring me Danny’s coat and shoes, please?’ I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula. I was wearing slippers, but Danny only had on his socks. Paula stood and went into the hall for Danny’s shoes while Lucy unhooked his coat from the chair and brought it to me.

‘Thank you,’ I said with a reassuring smile.

Danny was calmer now he knew he was going outside, although what he expected to find out there I’d no idea – I could foresee another tantrum when he was disappointed.

‘Do you want me to get your coat, Mum?’ Paula asked, arriving with Danny’s shoes.

‘No thanks, love. We won’t be out there for long. It’s cold.’