My Name Is Leon (6 page)

II

At first Leon thinks he's in a dream about fighting a dragon. But then Maureen is shaking him and he can't seem to open his eyes.

“Leon! Leon!”

Somehow he is sitting next to her on the bed, and when he opens his eyes he can see from her face that something's wrong.

“You're grinding your teeth again, Leon! It's four o'clock in the bloody morning. Wake up!”

One side of his face hurts and it feels like he hasn't been asleep all night. He was fighting an evil monster that was picking up people with his claws and eating them. Blood dripped from the monster's lips and some of it splashed on Leon and then the monster saw him and started chasing him. Leon ran and ran and then when he couldn't run any more, he turned round and just when he was about to stab the monster and win, Maureen woke him up.

“Honestly, Leon. I wish you could hear yourself. I've never
heard nothing like it. Goes right through me. Leon! Don't go back to sleep! Leon!”

First of all she makes him take a pee even though he doesn't want to. She stands at the door and the bathroom floor is cold on his bare feet. She tells him to sit down to pee because he's too tired to stand, so it's really hard to concentrate on making the pee come out but she won't let him get off the toilet until he has done it. Halfway through he nearly falls off, so he has to hold on to the sink with one hand. Then the stairs feel wobbly under his legs and he's grateful when Maureen says he can sit on the kitchen chair and have a biscuit.

“Now where's this all come from, eh?” she says, filling her spotty mug with boiling water. “As if I didn't know.”

Leon tries to rest his head on the table but she's having none of it. She makes him sit up straight like he's in school and drink his juice. He tries to eat his biscuit but it feels too heavy and it drops on to his lap and onto the floor. Leon is so tired and so angry with Maureen.

“Right,” says Maureen, poking him in his neck-back. “I know you're upset but you and me are having a talk. Take this and wipe your face.”

She hands him a tea towel for his tears. It smells of mashed potato.

“In there with you, on the sofa, and get the green blanket over you. Come on.”

He does as he's told and puts the green blanket over his legs even though he isn't sick. Maureen sits down next to him and puts her coffee on the floor.

“Right, mister. You awake now? You listening?”

Leon nods.

“Answer me this. How many children have I fostered over the years? I know you know the answer because I saw you
eavesdropping the other day when I was talking to the new neighbors. So, go on. How many?”

“Twenty-two,” he says.

“Exactly. So I've fostered twenty-two children. How many children have I got of my own? Not counting stepchildren and we'll come to them in a moment.”

“Robert and Ann.”

“Twenty-two and two?”

“Twenty-four.”

“How many kids have Robert and Ann got between them?”

Leon screws up his eyes so he can think.

“Three, Leon. Three. Now I don't see them as often as I'd like on account of the fact that they live abroad but we're going to count them because I did look after them when they were here. So, we were on twenty-four and we're adding three.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Good. How many stepkids?”

“Two.”

“Twenty-seven and two, Leon. I know you're half-asleep but pay attention because this is important.”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-nine. We're going to round it up to thirty, because that's you. You're number thirty. So, do you think I might know something about children, Leon?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think there is anyone who knows more about children than me?”

“A teacher?”

“No, not a teacher because the teacher's job finishes at half past three and my job never ends. And my job never ends because I look after you even when you're not here because I think about you and I care for you and I love you. You and all the children that I've ever looked after. Do you understand, Leon?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Now listen carefully because I want you to understand something and I don't say this to all the children because it's not always true but with you it is true, so you have to believe it. And when you believe it you will stop grinding your teeth and I might be able to get five minutes' sleep before sunrise. All right?”

“Yes.”

“It will be all right.”

Maureen wipes Leon's face with the corner of her dressing gown but because it's made of the same silky stuff as the cushions his face is still wet and begins to itch.

“You will be all right, Leon. You will be all right.”

Leon uses the towel again because it's better for tears.

“And one day,” she says, “you will see your brother again. He will find you or you will find him and you can tell him all about what you've been doing, about your soccer and your toys and your shows. You can ask him all the questions about what he's been doing because he's not as grown up as you, so he'll still be doing baby things, won't he? You'll be able to help him with his toys. It might not be for a long time, you might even be grown up and you won't be playing with toys anymore. But you will see Jake again. He hasn't gone forever.”

She goes into the kitchen and gets him another biscuit but this time it's got chocolate on it and Leon realizes that he didn't hear her taking the lid off the Golden Tin, so Maureen has a secret hiding place.

“I'll keep saying it until you believe me, Leon. You will be all right and that, mister, is a promise. I know you miss him, pigeon, and that the future seems a long, long way away but I know what I'm talking about. Right, you can have one more sip of your juice then go and have another pee so you don't wet the bed.”

On the way up the stairs, he thinks of a question but by the time he gets into bed he's forgotten it again. It was something
about how long away the future was but he can't think of the exact words to say.

Maureen kisses him and just before she turns the light out he hears her talking to herself.

“I should have got him to brush his bloody teeth.”

12

“All right, Salma, love. Come in.”

Leon stands at the top of the stairs just out of sight. There's a little gap in the banisters where if he keeps his head dead still he can see who comes to the door. If he's in his room playing with his toys and he hears the bell, it's easy to slide off the bed and tread carefully on tiptoe along the brown carpet to the very top of the stairs. He crouches down and if they're not whispering, he can hear what they say. He's heard Maureen swearing lots of times, like when she called Margaret Thatcher a bloody cow because of the miners. And once she said Margaret Thatcher could kiss her ass and Leon laughed and got caught eavesdropping. Maureen says that if he keeps listening to people's private conversations his ears will shrivel into prunes and drop off. Leon always checks his ears at night just in case.

Maureen takes Salma straight into the kitchen. She'll make coffee for Salma and then they'll talk about him. He creeps down the stairs in his socks to the sitting room and sits quietly in front
of the television. Salma's bag is on the sofa. Salma always has a handbag and another leather bag that she keeps her files in. The files are sticking out and her handbag has the zipper open. He can hear her with her sad voice.

“His last report card was a bit of a concern, I agree.”

“Bit of a concern? He's got no friends. Spends his break on his own. Doesn't do his work. It's not like he's thick. He's grieving, if you ask me.”

“I'm sure he'll settle down, Maureen. It's got to be a shock for him but we're confident we've done the right thing. It's not just about him. Separately, they've got a chance, but together . . .”

Maureen snorts. “Jake's got a chance, you mean. You've split them up and in my books that's a sin and I won't change my mind on that.”

“What would you have done then, Maureen? Have neither of them adopted? Because that's the choice.”

“I have no idea what I would do, Salma.” Maureen is washing the dishes and making them clank together in the sink. “That's why I'm not a social worker. Anyway, how is he?”

Leon pulls the straps of Salma's handbag until it's right next to him. He eases his hand inside and feels for her purse. His eyes are on the door. His ears are in the kitchen.

“Good. New mom and dad are delighted, obviously. He's settling in well. Well as can be expected. It's early on but it looks like a good match.”

Leon unzips the purse and he pokes two fingers in. He feels the cold metal of a coin with sharp corners. Fifty pence. He plucks it out, puts it in his other hand, clenches his fist around it. Zips up the purse and feels the cold sweat drip down his back. He pushes the bag with his elbow until it's back where she left it. He can hardly breathe.

Salma is still talking.

“Mom and dad have taken him to the park, introduced him
to the family, taken lots of photographs. They make a lovely family, Maureen. They've got a big garden.”

“Big garden, eh?” says Maureen. “How lovely.” She bangs the saucepan into the sink. “And what about this letter he's supposed to get? Hang on, let me just check on Leon, I want to talk to you about something, Salma.”

The kitchen door opens quickly but Leon is prepared. He's standing by the television pressing the button to turn it on. He doesn't turn round.

“All right, love?” says Maureen. She goes back into the kitchen and the door clicks shut.

Leon dashes upstairs faster than a cheetah. He slips the fifty pence under his mattress. He'll move it later. He comes downstairs so quickly and so lightly that he's out of breath again. But he lands in his seat and leans on a cushion in twenty seconds. He can't hear anything from the kitchen but the droning of the two women. He shuffles over in his seat next to Salma's leather bag so he can be nearer the door but it's no good. Nothing. All Salma's files are sticking out of her bag, brown folders with white paper inside. These are the files that the social workers hold whenever he asks about his mum. They look through their files and check dates and addresses but they never let him see for himself. And he's a good reader. He flicks through the corners of the files. He sees his name and his birth date. He sees Jake's name and birth date. He sees his mom's name and her birth date. He squeezes his hand between the pages and pulls.

Due to Carol's itinerant lifestyle and mental health issues, it has been difficult to make a full and detailed assessment. Carol was given the opportunity to attend a weekly access visit to Leon and Jake to assess her commitment and capacity for caring for her children. She failed to attend these appointments without explanation. She has also failed to attend
access visits arranged at the foster carer's house on four separate occasions, again without explanation. Carol Rycroft did attend the Family Center without appointment, where she stayed for twenty minutes speaking to the Duty Social Worker about her new life and plans for the future, which did not appear to include caring for Leon and Jake.

The most recent psychiatric assessment of Carol Rycroft undertaken by Dr. Ann Mulroney (attached) concluded that Carol Rycroft has an emotionally unstable personality disorder which presents in maladaptive behavior that has formed the background to her mental health problems. She presents with a range of behaviors including anxiety, restlessness, stupor, and transient mood swings into hypomania. She reports previous episodes of mild to medium clinical depression following the birth of her first child, Leon, who has consequently spent several short periods in various foster care short-term placements. She also reports that her mother and maternal grandmother both had psychiatric disorders but this could not be verified. She is unwilling or unable to provide any details of either child's biological father although limited information has been obtained from Tina Moore (see later).

Carol Rycroft's current condition is complicated by her dependence on prescription drugs and alcohol use. Her personality disorder is also manifest in Carol's high level of self-interest as opposed to the interests of her children. The Psychological Assessment concluded that Carol Rycroft is unlikely to be in a position to care for either child unless she is willing to undertake further psychological input for a period of no less than eighteen months.

He tucks the paper back where
it was and opens the kitchen door.

“When am I going to see my mom?”

Salma puts her face up close to Leon and smiles.

“Remember we talked about this, Leon? Remember we said—”

“Why do I have to wait all the time?”

“Well, it's because—”

“I'm hungry,” he says.

Salma smiles again and rubs his shoulder like he's fallen over.

“Course you are.”

Salma goes back to sipping her coffee while Maureen takes the lid off the biscuit tin.

“Tea's in half an hour,” she says.

Leon nibbles the biscuit and stares at them.

“What?” says Maureen, folding her arms. “You been listening at doors again? You'll hear something you won't like one of these days.”

She touches his cheek.

“Not today, though. It's all good today. Go on, off with you. Half an hour of TV and I'll put the tea on. Sausage and mash. Now hop it.”

She closes the door after him and he sits down by the papers that say horrible things about his mom. He knocks Salma's bag over with his elbow and when it falls on the floor everything spills out and he kicks it with his foot so that the papers get jumbled up. He stands over the mess and dribbles the soggy biscuit from his mouth onto the papers, a brown sticky mess with crumbs in it. Then he gathers them up and puts them back in Salma's bag.