Abandoned (5 page)

The unnamed boy spent the next few weeks in a short-term foster placement in Kendal, before finally being adopted by the McMullens. He quickly settled into his new home on Whitehaven’s Cumbrian coastline with his ecstatic new parents, William and Victoria — or Billy and Vicky as they were more commonly known.

Billy was a fisherman, who worked at sea six days a week to put food on the table and provide for him and his wife. He had been a fisherman ever since leaving school at sixteen without qualifications; he’d always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and knew he would end up working on the fishing boats after school, so never really applied himself academically. He was content with his lot in life — having a child was just the icing on the cake for him, as he was well aware it had always been Vicky’s dream to be a mother, ever since they had got together at a local dance when they were both in their late teens. It was hard to think that the dance was nearly twenty years ago.

Vicky worked part-time at the local grocery shop, until she gave it up to spend time raising their new son. Other than being a wife and a mother, she didn’t harbour any secret ambitions; she was just content at having a loving, faithful husband and nice home together. She was overcome with joy upon receiving the news that their application for adoption had been approved and couldn’t wait to finally be a complete family and experience the joy that motherhood brings.

And so, the McMullens took Jonathon in and raised
him as though he was their own flesh and blood. The young boy couldn’t have hoped for a more doting, committed, loving family. They showered him with affection and proudly showed him off everywhere that they went, always referring to him when asked as their precious little miracle. By the time Jonathon was eighteen months old, all thoughts of adoption were distant memories, as Jonathon was now very much a McMullen, and an integral part of the family. They had witnessed him grow from a baby, crawling, learning to walk and hearing him utter his first words of ‘dada’, into the toddler before them.

Young Jonathon was an extremely happy child. He was very inquisitive and interactive with anybody he came into contact with, always smiling and laughing and very much at home with the only parents he had ever known. At three years old his parents placed him in a local nursery, and all the workers there would often say to Vicky when she came to collect him just how adorable he was and how much he lit up the room with his gentle nature and love of cuddles. By the age of five he was attending Whitehaven Primary School and had developed a love of rugby and fishing, as usually Billy would take him to one or the other for some father-son bonding time every Sunday on his only day off. Young Jonathon would look forwards to this each weekend, as he missed his father during the week and would sometimes stand for ages staring out of the window just waiting for his daddy to return from sea. It was around this time that the couple decided to get Jonathon a puppy for Christmas; the couple thought it was hilarious that every time an animal programme came on TV, Jonathon would stop whatever it was he was doing and just sit intently, eyes fixed firmly on the screen as though it cast an unbreakable spell over the usually hyperactive boy they knew and loved.

The couple couldn’t wait to see the look on Jonathon’s face when he woke that Christmas morning. Indeed, they didn’t have to wait long as he was up at five in the morning, eager to open all the presents laid out nicely under the
tree for him. It wasn’t until he had stopped ripping the paper off the presents that he noticed a strange sound coming from the kitchen. Still in his pyjamas, he ran through to the kitchen to investigate.

In front of him was a large square object that was loosely covered in wrapping paper. He turned to his parents next to him for approval, before removing the paper in one swift swipe, revealing a metal crate containing the twelve-week-old springer spaniel his parents had bought for him. Jonathon’s face spoke a thousand words as he held back tears of joy, and could barely contain his excitement. He turned to his parents and threw his arms around them then quickly turned back around to see the wagging tail of the tiny jet black puppy looking straight up at him.

‘This is for you, son’, his father said to him. ‘He was lonely and wanted a best friend to play with, and we thought that could be you. What do you think?’

The only words Jonathon could get out were, ‘Thanks, Daddy. I love him.’

The parents looked at each other and smiled before asking Jonathon to name him. He answered without a second thought.

‘Toby.’

‘Toby it is, then.’

Jonathon spent the remainder of the day playing with his new best friend, finally falling asleep cuddling Toby on the couch after his perfect Christmas day.

Unbeknown to the family, that day was to be their last proper Christmas together, as in the spring of the following year Vicky was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. After months of chemotherapy they were delivered the devastating news in October of that year, that because the type of cancer was so aggressive, unfortunately the tumour had spread; it was terminal and she only had possibly three months left to live.

This absolutely broke the couple’s hearts; after spending years trying to get what they had now, the sad realisation set in that it was all going to be taken
away from them so suddenly and abruptly. Vicky was distraught at the fact she would never get to see her son grow into a man, and that she would miss out on all the important events in his life. She had but one last request to ask her husband, and that request was given to him from her hospice bed in late November when she made Billy promise to make sure Jonathon was taken care of, and to cherish him and give him the upbringing and love she could not now provide. She then reminded Billy not to forget her, and always remember how much she loved him and Jonathon. A tear-soaked Billy vowed to keep his promise whilst holding her hand as she laid in her bed, knowing it was just a matter of time before her now weak and fragile body could fight no longer. That cruel twist of fate came just two weeks before Christmas, when Vicky’s heavily morphine-sedated body finally gave up its fight. All Billy could do was sit and watch as his beloved wife drew her last breath and eventually passed away. The heartbroken Billy gave his wife a long, lingering kiss on her forehead, told her he would always love her, and said goodbye as the doctor pronounced that she was finally at peace and free from her suffering.

***

All Billy could think of now was how to explain to his son that mummy would never be coming home. He did so by telling him that the angels needed help in heaven and that they had taken her to be one of them, then reassured him that she would always be looking over him. Jonathon didn’t really understand, he just knew that his daddy was very upset and wasn’t himself. Billy just wrapped his arms around his boy, and cuddled him tighter than he ever had before and told him it was just the two of them now and that he would always be there for him. At the time he said it, he meant it with genuine sincerity.

That Christmas, Billy did all he could do to ensure Jonathon had a great time, but it just didn’t feel the same without his wife and he was really struggling to hold it all
together. Over the following weeks he really started to go downhill rapidly. He became dishevelled, he wasn’t going to work, and he was hitting the bottle hard. Jonathon’s schooling and wellbeing started to suffer because of it, and many a morning he would come downstairs and attempt to rouse his father from a drunken slumber lying on the couch, to no avail. This continued for a couple of months, and as Billy’s depression became deeper and deeper, his alcohol consumption grew and grew.

Jonathon’s teachers became very concerned for his wellbeing after noticing a massive decline in his appearance over the past few months, and after bringing Mr McMullen in for a meeting to voice their concerns, Billy broke down and admitted that he was in a dark place and felt unable to cope, and that he needed help with Jonathon. He even admitted to the head teacher how he had contemplated suicide on several occasions lately. This immediately set alarm bells ringing, and the head informed Social Services of his disclosure, and once again the local authorities were back in the young boy’s life, at first offering respite days, which steadily turned into full weekends as the depths of Billy’s depression grew deeper and deeper. By now, Billy’s alcoholism was out of control and he was frequently becoming involved in bar brawls and being picked up by the police on other alcohol-related offences.

Finally in May 1979, just three months before his seventh birthday, Jonathon was once again placed in the care of Social Services. Billy did try to stop it from happening, but as much as he loved his son, he just couldn’t recover from the loss of his wife and reluctantly accepted that being with him was not the best place for Jonathon. This was a double blow for Billy as not only did he lose the son him and his wife desperately strived for, but he knew with it he had broken the one last promise he had vowed to his dying wife. The guilt eventually proved to be too much for Billy to take. One lonely, drink-filled night, whilst clutching a picture of the three of them in happier times, he swallowed two full packets of sleeping
pills and another couple of packets of paracetamol he found lying around, washed them down with a litre bottle of rum, and went to sleep. It was a sleep he would never wake up from.

The next few weeks and months seemed to pass by in a haze for Jonathon as he moved from one short term foster placement to another. His young mind struggled to comprehend the loss of his mother and father. He tried his best to pretend it hadn’t really happened, and would often say his parents were away on holiday and would be coming to collect him as soon as they returned. When challenged on this by any of the foster parents, Jonathon would become extremely aggressive, and would frequently lash out at anybody that dared to question what he was saying. He felt lost and alone, not knowing where he was going to end up next. With nobody to save him from the hurt he was feeling, he shut himself off from everyone around him and became very insular, refusing to engage with anybody. Any attempts by Social workers, foster parents or child psychologists to get him to open up were met with conflict and extremely challenging behaviour, which meant it became very difficult to find Jonathon any new adoptive parents willing to take him in.

It wasn’t until just after Jonathon’s eighth birthday, after spending the last fifteen months moving from one failed placement to another, that Jonathon was given the news that he was to be placed with well-established and recognised long-term foster carers: James and Edna Beattie. Apart from his obvious apprehension, he was quite excited when he was told he would be living on a cattle farm in a small town named Silloth on the Solway coastline, and that Mr Beattie was an animal lover who always had a dog on the farm. This was the main selling point for Jonathon, as not only did he miss his parents, he would often wonder how Toby was and who he was living with these days. He longed to fill the void left by Toby, so agreed to go and meet the Beatties.

***

As Jonathon and his Social worker pulled up at the Beatties’ farm, they were greeted at the front gate by a slightly rotund, red-faced, blond man in denim jeans, a checked shirt and wellington boots who introduced himself.

‘Hi. Name’s James Beattie, but friends call me Jim, or Jimmy’.

By his side was a small, thin, dark haired lady who was still wearing a blue and white striped pinafore, who explained how she had just finished preparing a lovely thick-crust steak pie and had just placed it in the oven awaiting Jonathon’s arrival. Jonathon was pleased to see the Beatties’ obedient black and white sheepdog, Amber, sat at James’ feet.

‘So, young man, you must be Jonathon?’ said Mr Beattie.

Jonathon had been in this situation quite a number of times over the past year upon meeting potential foster parents. He never usually responded, as he knew it would only be a matter of time before he would be rejected once again, so didn’t normally try to form a bond with anyone. However, something felt different this time and, for the first time in longer than he could care to remember, he actually responded to Mr Beattie.

‘Yes sir.’

‘Oh don’t be nervous, Jonathon. We don’t bite around here, lad, and please, just call me Jim.’

Jonathon, feeling a little less anxious by this point, and still struggling to focus on anything other than Amber sat by her master’s feet, just replied, ‘Ok, Jim’.

With introductions now out of the way, the Beatties set about making Jonathon relaxed in this new, unfamiliar environment.

‘Edna, why don’t you show the boy around the house and where he is going to be staying. In fact, take Amber whilst you are at it, as I’ve heard that Jonathon is a dog lover like myself. Let him get used to the old girl whilst me and Brian have a little chat.’

Brian, Jonathon’s Social worker, had been a friend of Jim for many years.

‘No problem, dear,’ Edna responded, before ushering Jonathon down the path and into the farmhouse with Amber padding along beside them.

After about thirty minutes of looking around the farmhouse and surrounding buildings and cattle sheds, Jonathon actually started to quite like the place, and started to imagine what it was going to be like living there. The Beatties sure seemed like decent enough people — very friendly and welcoming. He liked the idea of running around and playing in the fields with Amber, and he was also intrigued by all the cattle on the farm and the idea of managing all the animals. They went back to where Jim and Brian were still stood talking and Edna informed them that dinner was ready. Then they all headed into the house to sit and eat the steak pie she had prepared especially for them.

‘So, Jonathon, what do you think of Mr and Mrs Beatties’ farm then, is it somewhere you could see yourself living?’ asked Brian, as they all sat about the dining table. With a rare smile, Jonathon just nodded his head; he was too busy devouring the lovely home cooked meal in front of him to notice as the adults exchanged looks as if to say, ‘Everything will be just fine’.